Verona
by Enchantable
Summary: COMING DOWN FOR A REWRITE ON 10/30
1. Chapter 1

It was all quiet, on the outside.

Dark lashes remained pressed to porcelain cheeks, pale lips remained softly parted around the tube that snaked down her throat. Sleeping beauty remained waiting for her Prince to come charging in and save her. Of course he would never come, if he even existed. She looked small and frail, laying on the large bed that dwarfed her body. Next to her monitors fed to a computer, relaying the information they discovered about the subject. She was completely isolated. The information was relayed to a nearby room and every so often people came in to check on her but they all had express permission to be there. Keeping her as she was, catatonic, was essential.

With a hiss the doors slid opened, permitting group to enter the room.

"What you are about to see is highly classified," the woman told them, her shoes clicking on the ground as she walked over to the bed with authority, "we discovered this subject a few days ago, after the blackouts experienced throughout Japan," she surveyed the group that stood around her, watching her as much as the subject, "she has been brought in and remained in this state since."

"Excuse me," one of them was brave enough to ask the question, "what is so special about this girl to warrant this kind of security?"

"Excellent question," the woman around the bed, giving them a clear view, "what can you tell me about her?"

"She appears to be a young female, probably in her late teens judging from her appearance, her vitals look relatively stable though she is clearly in a comatose state," he said looking at the machines, "what does she have, super powers or something?"

"Not quite," she replied, "Gentlemen, Ladies, please open your files," she said motioning for them to do so.

They did. The reactions were just what she predicted. Wide eyes, parted lips, one woman actually made a sound. The brave man who spoke before looked up at her, horror and confusion written all over his face.

"This can't be right," he said, "there is no way this is correct!"

"I assure you it is," she said coming back to them.

"But this means--"

"Yes," she cut in with a very satisfied smile, "may I present to you all the first concrete proof we have of life after death."

Far away, for the first time in months, Ichigo Kurosaki moved.

Moved might have been the wrong word for what he did. Despite everything that said it was impossible, Ichigo Kurosaki bolted upright in his bed in the Kuroskai Clinic and among the wailing monitors, he buried his fingers in his hair and screamed. Isshin was on his feet in seconds, racing into his son's room with speed that would have put his _Shunpo_ to shame. All the while Ichigo's tortured cries echoed in the small space. It has been months and his wounds were still not healed, there was a high chance he was damaging the fragile work they had done inside of him to keep him alive. He shouldn't have even been able to move.

"Ichigo--Ichigo!"

Isshin's voice was no match for the sounds coming out of his son's lips. Whatever he was seeing behind his tightly shut eyelids was torturing him. The monitors attached to his body wailed. Two of the IV's that snaked into his arm had dislodged, their fluids dripping onto the bed. Some of the bandages that covered his back were rapidly turning red as well, given the fact he was hunched over Isshin couldn't see the front of him but he guessed that his son was bleeding there as well. Isshin grabbed Ichigo's shoulder, trying desperately to get his attention but it did not seem to work. He just continued to scream.

Fighting back the despair that surged through him, Isshin grabbed the syringe and vial. He filled it and quickly injected Ichigo's arm. The medicine worked quickly. Ichigo's screams became softer until he slumped forward, his hands falling limply to his sides. Isshin quickly caught him before he could completely collapse. Ichigo's body was almost alarmingly light against Isshin's frame, his muscles having atrophied in his months spent on the bed. Carefully Isshin eased him down. He was going to have to get clean supplies and bandage what he could. But if he had done internal damage he was going to have to take him back to the Karakura Hospital. The last thing he needed was to be around Ryuuken and see him dealing with what his son was going through. It seemed they had yet _another_ thing in common.

"He woke up again?"

"He's back asleep now, Yuzu," he said picking up the gauze he needed and glancing at his daughter.

"R-right, its for the best huh?" Yuzu said, "I mean, he's probably not ready to be awake yet," she smiled bravely.

"He's going to be fine," Isshin said, "its just going to take a bit of time," he bent down, "how are you doing today?"

"I'm fine daddy. Just like I was ten minuets ago," she said with a smile, "and you don't have to bend down," she looked up at him bravely, "its not like I'm going to get much taller."

Isshin straitened up as Yuzu smiled from the confines of her wheelchair. It hadn't been a hollow or anything like that, not this time. One of the fall outs had shaken the building and Yuzu had been on top of the stairs. The next moment she had gone flying down them, her body breaking a little more with each step it hit. Most of the damage was fixable, there was even a small chance she would walk again one day but at the moment Yuzu was bound to a wheelchair. She still smiled bravely, still cooked and did as much housework as her limited mobility would allow. After all with Ichigo as he was, she did not feel she had the right to be upset about her condition.

"I'm gonna go make lunch," she said after a moment, knowing Isshin wouldn't let her help.

"Good idea," he said, "I'm gonna fix Ichigo up and I'll go get your sister and I'll meet you two there."

"Okay," she said turning her chair and pushing off down the hallway.

Isshin looked at the gauze in his hand and fought the burning in his throat back as he heard his daughter wheel down the hallway. Taking a deep breath he turned around and walked into the room to once again patch up his son's broken body, that at least, he could fix. He had no idea what to do with the rest of Ichigo and worse, he did not know anyone who could help him. Something not physical, not mental--no something _else_ was wrong with Ichigo and if they could not fix that they would have to face the truth.

The truth was that Ichgio Kurosaki was dying.

* * *

**Okay let me start out by saying that this is my attempt at an actually angsty, dark fic. Most of my stories dissolve into fluff but I'm going to try for something a bit less so here. **

**As always, tell me if I should keep going. **


	2. Chapter 2

**A few notes:**

**I've spelled Ryuuken and Uryuu as that because that's how I see them used most often.**

**For the purposes of this, Ryuuken is a doctor. Wikipedia doesn't really say if he's a doctor or not, just that he is the Director of the Karakura Hospital. So I figure that he is a doctor, just not one that works on every case. You don't have to have an MD to be a Hospital administrator but if he is a Doctor that gives him another thing in common with Isshin.**

**Also the technology that is talked about in this chapter is obviously made up. As its explained the goggles used are intended for a completely different purpose and they stumbled upon them by accident. As for the DNA thing, we can see that gigai's (and Shinigami) bleed. So I'm assuming this blood is the same. Also its stated a LOT that Rukia and Hisana were sisters and died in the transient world, not being separated. Therefore I am assuming they look the same as they did in the transient world.**

**Oh and names are done First Last, not Last First.**

**

* * *

**

"Good morning, Mr. Ishida," the nurse's voice was going to be the end of him, "how are you feeling today?"

Uryuu Ishida said nothing. What was the point in saying anything? He could tell her he had almost figured out the lock on the window but he imagined she would just smile and tell him it was great he had managed to make it out of bed. Instead he continued to sit there as she walked over to him. He felt the bed move under him as she moved him into a sitting position. The oxygen mask around his mouth and nose continued to allow him to breathe without a tube going down his throat. The doctors were more optimistic about his lungs. Smooth hands moved his body into a sitting position, the doctors were optimistic about his skin and bones and muscles and tendons as well. There were solutions for that. Her hands began to work on the bandages as he smelled the antiseptic that should burn when they applied it but would not.

The doctors were not optimistic about his eyes.

The force of the last of the battles had scarred and burned his body almost beyond repair. There was no Mayuri this time to fix him either. He had been brought to Karakura hospital more dead than alive. He wouldn't have been surprised if he had died a few times as they fought to save him. From what he understood he would be scarred for the rest of his life thanks to the burns. He had inhaled smoke and dust and god knows what, damaging his lungs. There had been so many injuries, only the barest of which he understood. he knew about his eyes though, it did not take a genius to figure out. The force of some explosion had shattered his glasses, though his lenses were designed to avoid something like that happening. Apparently that did not extend to otherworldly attacks. The glass from his lenses had shattered and then it had gone into the skin around his eyes. Some of it had missed his eyes by the barest millimeter, some of it had not, puncturing his eyelids to reach his eyeballs. He knew his eyeballs were in tact but whether they could see or not was something that had yet to be determined.

He felt the barest pressure as the nurse applied ointment and dressings to his eyes. The last thing he needed was an infection. The glass had been removed and numerous specialists had come to examine him but the diagnosis were all the same: there was a very slim chance that he would see again. It was simple really, no eyesight meant no archery. No archery meant no more being a Quincy. There were other issues too but they seemed to pale in comparison. His father was probably loving this. Finally his son was no longer a Quincy. Wasn't that what he had always wanted? Well he would get his wish. It wasn't like there were anymore Shinigami to be friends with either. He knew Kurosaki was fighting his own internal battle.

"All done," the nurse said peppily as she secured the bandages that covered his eyes.

He turned his head away as she departed. Movement was still hard for him, movement for an extended duration of time was impossible. But he could get his point across when he needed too. He could talk, he simply did not feel the need too. He heard the nurse pick up the supplies, humming as she did. If he had more movement in his scarred hands he would have reached over and strangled her. As it was he laid there, listening to her hum as she cleared away the supplies that kept him alive for another heartbeat, another breath. They were more torturous than anything else.

Uryuu turned his face to the sun and wondered if scarred, dead eyes were able to weep.

The nurse walked down the hallway, his chart tucked under her arm. She made her way to the elevator and stepped inside, taking it up to the administrative offices. She looked odd in her scrubs, walking along a hallway that cost more than some of the equipment in the rooms. It was not that Ryuuken Ishida did not have the best for his patients but some things did cost more than medical supplies and those were the kind of things that intimidated people who came to visit his office. Especially if those people were going to try and do something stupid. She was intimidated--who wouldn't be?--but she knew that her job was far more important. Squaring her shoulders she stopped outside his door and raised a fist, knocking on it.

"Come in," came the harsh voice.

She stepped inside, the chart held tightly in her hands. She knew she was supposed to feel terror or at the very least intimidated but all she felt when she looked at the man behind the desk was sympathy. She had been there when they had brought his son in, more dead than alive, she had been the one who raced up the stairs and gasped out who was in the Trauma Room. He had been in a meeting but she would never forget the look in his eyes. He didn't say a word to the men, he just got to his feet and left the room. He did not run, not until he reached the door anyway. The he did and he did not stop running until he reached the room where he put on scrubs and took over for the doctor that was trying to save his son's life. Every time the young man crashed or bled or slipped away it was Ryuuken Ishida who was there bringing him back to life.

But once he had stabilized, once he was out of the woods he had vanished as quickly as he had come.

He still received constant updates on his son's condition. If something happened she had no doubt that he would be down there saving him once again. But as long as he was alright, as long as he was healing physically he stayed up in his office. He stayed away from his son. It was a horrible thing to watch. She knew that even though she was peppy and happy when she was around Uryuu Ishida, the young man wanted nothing more than to die. Physically he was healing as well as could be expected--better than could be expected--but emotionally he was not. Emotionally he was slipping away more and more every day. Even if she pitied Ryuuken Ishida she knew that he was making a mistake not going to his son. But she would not tell him that, she had never been a terribly brave woman and confronting him required more than she had in her.

"Here is his file, Director Ishida."

Ryuuken motioned for her to set it on the desk, not looking at it or at her. Once the door was closed he set down what he was reading and picked up the file. He was the Director the Hospital and it had been years since he had been one of the physicians who worked downstairs but the fact was that he was a doctor. Occasionally he worked as a doctor for the richest who could afford his services and for other special cases. He opened the folder and scanned the words written there. What little progress that had been made by his son was in the right direction. But it was not a lot of progress, not as much as he should be making. Ryuuken felt his fingers tighten on the paper. He should have listened to him, he should have stayed where he was instead of going charging after that girl. He was a fool for doing what he did.

"Director Ishida? You have a call on line 2, from a Dr. Kurosaki."

"What do you want, Kurosaki?" he demanded, not even bothering with pretending to be nice.

"I need a transport," came the low reply, "he woke up. I can't be sure but I think he tore something internal and--"

"An ambulance will be there in ten minuets."

"Thanks," Isshin said, "hows Uryuu?"

"His condition is none of your concern," Ryuuken said hanging the phone up before calling an ambulance.

Isshin looked at the phone before hanging it up again. He knew Ryuuken was beating himself up pretty hard about what happened to his son. Isshin felt bad for the guy. He couldn't imagine what life would be like if Ichigo and he had a falling out like the two of them. Just when they were starting to speak again, this had to go and happen. No father deserved to watch their son slip away. At least Uryuu was awake again. The second he woke up though Ryuuken had vanished like he was ashamed of throwing on his scrubs again. From what Isshin had heard he raced out of an important meeting without a second thought to go and save his son. Isshin would have done the same thing. Despite his unwillingness to talk about Uryuu's condition, Ryuuken had gone in and performed surgery on Ichigo.

Isshin wouldn't have allowed anyone else to do it.

Isshin wasn't a surgeon. Ryuuken was far more an administrator now but in rare cases he was a very talented surgeon. When Isshin had shown up with his son, Ryuuken had already been working on his son. If there was one thing that Isshin admired about him it was his ability to detach. It was as if he did not acknowledge the man below his hands was Uryuu. No words of comfort came from his mouth, there was no trace of a worried father in his methodical movements. Uryuu had cried out a few times in agony but Ryuuken remained unaffected as he worked to save his son's life. But the second Isshin showed up with Ichigo, the usually semi-retired doctor had immediately accepted two patients who could never have afforded his usually exorbitant fee. Ryuuken and the team of specialists had worked tirelessly on the two boys. Ryuuken had specialists in his hospital but if he needed an outside consult he called in every favor, spared no expense to get them to come to the hospital to work on the two boys.

Isshin had forced himself to help. It was not as if Ryuuken could operate on two boy at the same time. So while one was in surgery he kept the other alive. The moments when Ichigo crashed were the hardest. The first time he had almost been paralyzed with terror as he heard the monitors wail. Each time he brought him back, it was agony. The worst part was that it got easier. Each time it got a little easier to fight, to urge him back to life. With Uryuu it was the same way. Hard at first and then easier. Half the time though it was Ryuuken who brought his son back. The man who hadn't fought for him when he was alive continually fought to bring him back from the brink of death, every bit as unwilling to let him go.

Isshin looked in on Ichigo. He had prepped him before hand, making sure that all the equipment could be moved easily into the ambulance. Though he hated himself for thinking it, he was glad that Ichigo had remained unmoving throughout it. He did not know if he could take that screaming twice in one day. Isshin turned and walked down the hallway to where Karin's room was. His daughter was laying on her back, tossing a ball up in the air and catching it. Though she had been injured severely, Karin was probably going to make the most complete recovery. Her leg had been broken severely, damaging the artery in her leg. She had sever blood loss when she had been brought into Karakura Hospital. Isshin was just thankful that Sado knew enough to bring her there instead of to the clinic. When he entered she caught the ball she was tossing quickly and pushed herself up on her forearms to look at him.

"He's gotta go to the hospital again doesn't he?" she demanded.

"Yeah," Isshin said, "he's gotta go back to the hospital but just for a little while okay?"

"Dad," Karin sighed, "you don't have to talk to me like that," she looked down at her leg, "my leg's just broken," she looked at the pins in her leg, "even if I don't get a cast," she looked at him, "you're going with him right? Yuzu and I'll be alright for a bit."

"I know but I'm going to call Tatsuki to come over," he said turning to go.

"Hey dad," Isshin turned, his hand flying out automatically to catch the ball that she tossed to him, "nice catch."

It seemed he could still do something right.

**

* * *

**

Outside of the room the woman scientist from before consulted the tablet computer cradled against her forearm. Her dark hair was caught up tightly in a rather sever twist at the back of her skull. Everything, her porcelain skin, the glasses on her nose, everything spoke of a life lived indoors, out of the sun. Even with the stylus her handwriting was precise and very legible, intended for other people to read.

"I'm sure your eyes can be better entertained elsewhere, Mr. Cross," she said cooly.

"Well they kicked us out of the room with that fascinating _thing_ of yours," he said.

"She is not a 'thing', Mr. Cross," she said looking over at him, "at one point she was human," he kept looking at her rather skeptically, "come with me, Mr. Cross," she said.

"I though we were supposed to stay here," he said.

"For one of our most esteemed benefactors, I'm sure I can show you something else to satisfy your curiosity," she continued smoothly.

He shrugged and followed her down the sterile hallway. He never liked the smell of these places, that antiseptic smell that always had his sense reeling. He did his best to avoid them, especially this facility. He viewed them the same way as he did his high school. Send a check and pray to be left alone. But no, no they always wanted to show him some nonsense or another. He very rarely entertained the requests and he was seriously regretting that this was one of them. The image of that woman, that doll like creature laying there would be ingrained in his mind for a long time. She looked so normal, so small, so innocent it was impossible to think that she was actually dead.

"How did you find her again?" he asked abruptly, "Mis--"

"Doctor," she replied smoothly, "Doctor Bordello. We found her during the blackouts a few days ago," she paused at a pair of doors and placed her hand on the surface of a wall. Moments later the door opened and allowed them into another room, "she did not look like that," she continued, "we were sweeping the area as part of our new research project and stumbled upon her completely by accident."

They were in a room of some kind. There were two empty glass tubes that were upright in the center of the room, sealed on both ends. A bank of computers seemed to be monitoring both of the supposedly empty tubes, which he had a feeling were not. Dr. Bordello walked over to the edge of the room and picked up a pair of goggles, walking back to him and extending them to him. He took them and looked at the tube. She motioned for him to wait before he put them on.

"These goggles are part of our new Search and Recovery program," she said, "they are designed to tell us if something is living underground. Their range is far more than their predecessors."

"I thought it was just a blackout," he said.

"Yes and this was just a field test," she said, "the goggles had been working in a contained area--in the lab--but we wanted to test them outside," she motioned for him to put them on before she pressed a button on the side of the goggles.

Things certainly seemed the same. The lab was still there but now it was shown in a dizzying array of colors. Numbers scanned down the side of the goggles as they seemed to focus and analyze certain things. He felt Dr. Bordello move behind him with methodical movements that bordered on cold. She turned his head firmly towards the tube. The goggles immediately locked in and began to scan the tube. As they did a picture began to take place. He blinked in the confines of the glasses, wondering if this was some kind of joke.

"Dr. Bordello, why is there a sword in that tube?"

It seemed to be a regular katana with dark reddish brown wrappings on the handle and a square guard. He turned his head to face the second tube. There was another sword in there too but this one was different. It was bigger with a hexagonal guard. The wrappings were green as well. The two swords were drastically different but they were both invisible to his eyes unless he was wearing the goggles. He lifted them off his eyes just to confirm that the tubes were, in fact, empty. He looked over at Dr. Bordello who gestured for him to come over to where she was. He walked over, the goggles held tightly in his hand.

"These goggles are able to feed back to us," she explained, bringing up images on the computer, "these were taken by the agent who brought the girl in," she said, "prior to bringing her in of course."

"No video?" he asked.

"We're working on that," she said.

The images showed the girl dressed in some odd black clothing, darting through the street, the reddish brown sword at her hip. She was obviously looking for something, determination and frustration was written all over her face. One of the images showed her looking directly at the camera, obviously having seen whoever was watching her. Her eyes were huge, she looked like a dear caught in the headlights.

"We lost sight of her after that, though we began to catch sightings of her. The odd thing was that we could see her without the goggles. We can only assume she is using some kind of puppet body."

She showed more images, taken with a normal camera. In each of the photographs the girl was shown wearing different, modern cloths. It was definitely the same color images showed her doe-like eyes to be a haunting shade of violet. Each photograph showed her looking almost desperate as she continued her search for whatever she was looking for.

"We found her shortly afterwards. She found what she was looking for, which we believe to be the second sword which we have dubbed Muramasa. The second she found it the sword reacted to her presence and she was in the puppet body. We found her unconscious and bleeding. We brought her here and she has remained in that state ever since. Using the goggles we were able to attain Muramasa and her blade."

"No nicknames for her sword? Isn't that kinda unfair?"

"Hardly," Dr. Bordello said smoothly, walking over to the desk and picking up a telephone, "Is he out of the bathroom yet?" she sighed at the response, "thank you," she hung up, "it seems our descendant Dr. Masato is having a negative reaction."

"He was asking a lot of questions," he said.

"I would be sorry if he did not," she said, "he does work for us after all."

In the bathroom, with little grace Doctor Junichiro Masato doubled over and emptied the contents of his stomach into the toilet.

Under his suite jacket his shirt was sticky with sweat. The classified folder he had been given was on the shelf on the side of the stall. He barely had the strength to flush the mess away before he leaned against the wall. With numb fingers he loosened the tie that seemed to be strangling him but the block in his throat remained. There was just no way what he had learned was possible, no way that this could be. But the evidence was all there in a shockingly thin manilla envelope. The evidence that seemed to have crippled him even harder than a strike.

He had seen many strange things at his time in the institute. Each new, higher security clearance had him questioning what he was doing more and more. But he stayed on, for reasons even he did not fully understand. Now he was regretting that more and more. He just never thought that of all the things that would push him over the edge this would be it. When he had been called to the highest level of security he had thought it was strange but he thought little of it. When he saw the girl on the bed he had thought it was strange but the contents of the file--

Taking a deep breath he picked the folder up and staggered to the sink, thankful the bathroom was for one person. Bending down he cupped his hands under the cool water, filling his mouth with the stuff. The bile remained, clinging to his mouth. He filled his hands again and splashed the water on his face. It dripped down his face as he slowly raised his eyes to look in the mirror. He did not need to look in the files to know the data, the blood that flowed through his veins and that of the woman on the bed. The similarities were all there, even though it had been generations between the two of them. Same violet eyes, same charcoal black hair--even the lack of height. His fingers gripped the sides of the sink with white knuckles.

Through the parted folds of his shirt the cross around his neck swung forward to dangle in the empty air like some kind of cruel joke.


	3. Chapter 3

"There appears to be no internal damage," Ryuuken said reading the scans from Ichigo's internal tests, "he needs to stay overnight for observation."

"Okay," Isshin said, "I've got Tatsuki babysitting Yuzu and Karin," he said, "I'll let her know I'll be a bit."

"Kurosaki we are more than capable of handling your son and any complications that arise from his condition," Ryuuken said.

Isshin stopped in his tracks. A very big part of him wanted to punch the hell out of Ryuuken but the more rational side of him, however small that part was, knew that whatever agony he was feeling Ryuuken was feeling tenfold. He had debated no to tell him the extent of what happened with Ichigo but as a doctor he knew that Ryuuken had to be informed of everything in case something happened. He turned around and walked over to where Ryuuken was examining the results from Ichigo's CT scan.

"He woke up," he said.

"You told me that," Ryuuken said

"No," Isshin said, "he woke up and he sat up."

"That's impossible," Ryuuken said, "do you see how atrophied his muscles are? Between that and his comatose state, there is now way he would be able to just 'sit up'."

"He did," Isshin said, his voice turning hollow, "he bolted up and he--" Isshin forced the bile down, "he grabbed his head and he just started _screaming_. I though he was being tortured. I haven't heard anyone scream like that," he shuddered, "ever."

"It might be a result of the attack," Ryuuken said.

"I want to know what attack did that," Isshin said, "I want to know why my son is in this state."

"The living and the dead are not meant to co-exist," Ryuuken said.

"Damn it he's my son! He's had my genes--my Shinigami abilities--from the moment he was born!"

"Yes," Ryuuken said coldly, "and you've said yourself that your genes contributed to his impressive power which made him a target for Aizen. It was his own foolishness that made him challenge Aizen and because of that he is in that state."

"Aizen did this to him," Isshin said darkly, "the neurologist said his brain was functioning."

Ryuuken said nothing. When Ichigo had not woken up, Ryuuken had taken action. He had flown in an old colleague who was one of the most respected Neurologists in the world. The man was nothing short of befuddled at Ichigo's condition. Apparently his brain was functioning normally but for some reason his body was not responding. Though Ryuuken did not understand much about Shinigami, he understood the concept of an Inner World. Through the medical explanations and what Isshin told him of the Shinigami, the two of them had realized that the most likely explanation for Ichigo's current state was that he was trapped somehow, probably in his own Inner World.

The problem was that there was no-one to tell them for sure.

Always able to see Spirits and such, Ryuuken had noticed that it had been a very long time since he had seen either a Hollow or a Shinigami in the usually overrun Karakura Town. It seemed as though both sides had retreated form their ancient struggle. There were no Hollows and there were no Shinigami. There was a time when he would have been glad of the fact. That time was not when his son and Isshin's were fighting for their lives. There were other things wrong with Uryuu, things he did not understand. But there was no Shinigami who could explain it to them. It seemed that the rest of the universe had left Karakura Town to fight on its own. They had been abandoned by the evil--and by the good.

Back at the Institute, the benefactors and doctors were once again being briefed by Dr. Bordello. They were in a different room this time, one with a large screen set up for a visual presentation. Idly, Mr. Cross wondered if Dr. Bordello ever put down the tablet computer or if it was simply a big-kid version of a security blanket. In the back of the room, Junichiro looked at the screens and told himself that he was not, under any circumstances, going to be sick.

"As you are all aware, we have only recently acquired the technology to see these people outside of their puppet forms," Dr. Bordello said smoothly, "this is the first one we captured this one in a place in Japan called Karakura Town, in Western Tokyo."

Behind her on the screen a map of Karakura Town appeared. It zoomed to the center of town. It looked like a disaster zone. Things had been patched but they were not completely fixed. It seemed that the damage was extensive to the area and given the resources of such a small town, it would take time to rebuild. Aid had most likely come to them but not to the degree they needed.

"Our preliminary reports tell us that five simultaneous earthquakes took place in Karakura town approximately three and a half months ago, or so the eyewitnesses tell us. A sweep of the area revealed that there was absolutely no seismic activity. Also we discovered in the rubble of four of the sites was a kind of material that we have never seen before. So far the fifth of these sites has shown none of this material."

She changed the image on the computer to a far less clear one. It was grainy and looked as though it had been taken with a camera phone of some kind. It had been cleaned up obviously by an expert hand that was not enough to make the image truly clear. Perhaps that was for the best, given what the image showed. There was only one substance that made cloths that color: human blood. Through the image they could tell that the man had once been wearing white, though now it was far more of that horrible color than white. And black, charred to his skin instead of laying on top of it. After a moment the image changed to show the young man as he had clearly once been.

"This is Uryuu Ishida, son of Ryuuken Ishida, the Director of Karakura Hospital. Though the image would suggest otherwise, he is in fact alive. When he was found his injuries were extensive. Reports say they found him very near the surface of the rubble," she looked a them, "given when and where they found him it is impossible that his injuries were caused by the earthquake."

The image changed.

"I have been asked to refrain from showing you the image of how we found this young man. This is Ichigo Kurosaki, a schoolmate of Mr. Ishida's. He was found in a separate area. Though his injuries are more sever than Mr. Ishida's, they are of the same nature and also cannot be explained by the earthquakes, particularly this," she changed the image to one of a faceless human body, a line drawn in the center of the chest, "this wound was made by a blade that moved at high speeds. It went in and out of him twice, very quickly," she looked at her audience, "the angle and force make it impossible for a human to have made this strike. We believe that the first in and out did most of the damage, the second time the sword was in him for a much longer time, almost as if it was pinning him down."

"So you're saying that its impossible that a human made these wounds," another of the benefactors said.

"Yes," Dr. Bordello confirmed, "that is exactly what I am saying."

From his place in the back of the room, Junichiro looked at the orange haired man on the screen. Had that woman been looking for the two of them as she ran through Karakura town? It seemed unlikely since she had not gone to them. He knew the chances of anyone finding this place were non-existant. But finding those two men seemed like the furthest thing from impossible. He was no geologist but even to his untrained eye he knew that the type of rubble from the so-called Earthquakes was different. It was not like an earthquake where something had been disrupted from the base. It looked as though something had been dropped _on_ the place, like the buildings that had fallen had been shoved downwards, disrupted on the top and not the foundation. It was like they had been crushed by whatever the strange material was, like that had been dropped on them.

"Thank you, gentlemen," she said finally, "we will take a recess for lunch."

From his seat, Mr. Cross looked at the man on the screen. Ichigo Kurosaki. Weird kid, who the fuck had orange hair like that? And this Uryuu kid, what kind of idiot wore glasses when they fought? These two were kids, it wasn't like they knew about shady government organizations or hiding their identities. There had to be a reason the two of them were involve in the attack. Especially if they both had these 'unexplained' injuriies. He stood up and walked over to where Dr. Bordello was checking something on her computer, something that he had a feeling she did a lot. Still she was aware enough of her surroundings to look up when he approached.

"Is there something you needed, Mr. Cross?" she asked.

"Have you ever been in a fight, Dr. Bordello?" he asked.

"Not since I was five," she said, pushing the glasses up on the bridge of her nose.

"Did they take your glasses?" he asked.

"Of course not, I had the sense to remove them before," she said.

"But this guy, this Mr. Ishida, he didn't," Mr. Cross walked over to the screen, "he kept them on which meant he thought that he could fight with them on."

"There is no evidence that either of these two was in a fight."

"I thought you said these wounds were made with a sword," he challenged.

"Well yes but--" she began and stopped, "it looks like they were severely hurt."

"Which means they were a threat," he said, "you don't just attack someone like that unless they're a threat," he looked at her. She looked back at him blankly, with those scientist eyes, "these two were a threat to someone, someone very dangerous."

"Mr. Cross, entertaining your outlandish theories is not high on my list of priorities," she said, frustration in her voice.

"I could have Mr. Hunter look into who these all are," he said looking over at her, "one phone call and I can tell you _everything_ about them."

"Mr. Cross!" she drew herself up with the same infuriation as if he had told her that her mother was a whore, "this institution is one of learning and research. We do _not_ deal with criminals."

It was only by supreme force of will that Mr. Cross found it in himself not to point out that she had just kidnapped an injured girl and was keeping her in a top secret facility that no-one in the world had any hope of finding. Dr. Bordello glared at him, self- righteousness in her every movement before she turned and walked away. Mr. Cross watched her go with a sigh before he turned around and walked out of the room. Regretfully he knew the file he had been given was not going to be able to leave with him but, well, you couldn't have everything in life now could you?

"Are you leaving, Mr. Cross?" one of the security people looked at him with confusion.

"I think I've seen enough," he said.

"Very well," he signaled another guard. For a moment they waited in silence before the second guard appeared in a golf cart, "we will escort you out," he said. Mr. Cross nodded and sat in the cart with the two men. They rode along the upward sloping hallway in silence before reaching the end of the long hallway. The security guard disappeared into another room before returning with the valuables he had given at the entrance in a bag, "I hope you enjoyed your time with us."

"It was interesting as always," he said accepting the bag before turning and walking into the darkened tunnel.

He heard the distinct sound of water lapping and sighed, hating this part. The tunnel led him to a platform where a boat was docked. He still could see nothing as he walked into the boat and down into the main cabin. It was a nice boat, the interior all soft lighting and lacquered wood. There was even a bar. Of course all the windows were blacked out, making it impossible to see where the boat was going or, more importantly, where it came from. It could have been minuets or hours that he sat in the windowless room as the boat made its way back to civilization. He imagined that it was probably hours. Finally though he felt the vessel stop. The door he had entered through opened, allowing him to exit.

"I hope you enjoyed your time with us at the Gabriel Institute, Mr. Cross," the boat Captain said.

This time he gave no response.

Waking into the bright street he extracted his valuables from the bag and placing them on his body. His phone would work now thankfully and he quickly turned it on, relief filling him as the bars lit up. Once he saw the number of messages he had to get through though, he winced. That red light was going to be flashing for a good long while. Ignoring it he dialed his office and waited for his assistant to pick up.

"Hello," he said warmly, something she did not appreciate, "I need you to book me a new flight. Yes, I promise I'll be back for the meeting," he said, "I need to make a quick stop first. Get me on the next flight to Japan, as close to Karakura town as you can get, there's someone I want to talk to."

* * *

He was floating.

Well floating might have been a strong word but it was clear that the stability under him was questionable at best. It was an odd but not unpleasant sensation, to be rocked back and forth like a child, though his foggy mind was rather sure he was an adult by now. He could feel dampness on his hair and his skin, as if he was being cleaned. Maybe he was a child and just imagining foolish things. For some reason he was far more sure that his mind wandered more than it stayed still. He felt cool fingers brush across his forehead, pushing back the limp locks of his hair. He felt a cool cloth lay across his forehead, replacing the fingers. That felt, if possible, even more wonderful.

He parted his lips, trying to ask where he was but all that escaped was a breath. Another cloth soaked in water was pressed to his lips, water trickling down his dry mouth. A hoarse, desperate sound came from somewhere nearby. A hand was at the back of his skull, guiding his head up as the rim of a glass was placed on his lips and tilted down. Water filled his mouth slowly. It took his mind a moment to remember what he was supposed to do with the mouthful of water. Finally his throat convulsed, the water sliding down down his throat. It hurt to swallow but the terrible thirst drove him past the agony. Eventually though the thirst was quenched, for the moment at the very least.

It did not take much to open his eyes. They drifted rather lazily open on their own accord. For some reason he thought that laziness was uncharacteristic of him. His eyes focused on the pale wood of the room he was in, the soft white of the carpet under his feet. The light in the room was a soft gold glow, coming from somewhere near his right. Everything was close together, as if the room was trying to masquerade as a bedroom while actually being about half the size of a normal one. On the right side of his face he felt a breeze and knew there had to be a window, though he could not get his head to turn and look out it.

The man tending to him looked down at him, obviously shocked that he was awake. He could make out very little past the fact that he was a, well a _he_. For some reason he thought that he was a she, a she with wide eyes and a braid that hung in front of her chest. But the figure who was working to bring his fever down was without a doubt, a man. Though his eyes remained open, the world seemed to be going in and out of focus rapidly. He felt himself blink and it was suddenly harder to open his eyes again, as if his eyelashes had been weighted down by something. He heard the echoing sound of a door being thrown open and his skull ached with the reverberations.

"Would you be quiet?" his healer demanded, his voice deep and masculine, though for some reason he knew that a healers voice should be soft and feminine, "the last thing we need is to add a migraine to his injuries."

"Has he woken up?" this voice was feminine, but it was harsh and demanding, once again not soft or quiet.

"No," the healer said, "he's still out."

"As is the other one," the woman said.

He frowned, 'other one'? What was he? Was he something else, something unlike them? His brow furrowed as he thought, though the action sent pain echoing through him. What did he look like? As he thought he realized he could not see what he looked like, what his voice sounded like, nothing of the sort. He should know, he knew he should know what he looked like but there was nothing. Adrenaline surged through him.

"Hold still," the healer said, "don't try to mo--"

"What is your name?" the woman demanded.

"Don't excite him! He's still very weak!"

_What is your name_?

His name.

What was his name? Nothing came to him. His name, his appearance, it was all a blank slate. He could not think of anything. It was like someone had taken everything he was and ripped it could not imagine what he looked like. He could not think of what his name was. It was as though before that moment he had not existed. These people did not know who he was, he did not know who he was. He felt the adrenaline course through him even more. He could hear a pounding, increasing in speed with every desperate breath of air he sucked in. He was drowning, he was drowning and there was no-one way up, no way out. He was going to die even though he was clearly in a place that should have been safe.

Suddenly adrenaline was abating with far more speed than it had come. He managed to open his eyes enough to see the healer holding some kind of object, he was just barley able to make out the long needle. Had they stuck that needle into him? He could not think of why they would do such a thing. He had not even felt the needle enter his skin if that was indeed what happened. He saw the healer bow his head in relief before the pull of sleep forced his eyelids down. He resisted the pull of sleep for a few moments longer.

"Are you happy now? You almost killed him!"

"I haven't ruled that out," the female replied icily, "when I drag people up from the ocean it tends not to mean anything good."

"Don't be ridiculous, we found them drifting. If we had dragged them up they would be dead."

"Ridiculous?" she repeated, "I shouldn't have to remind you of the precariousness of our position. The Gabriel Institute wants them both."

"What?! Why would they take an interest in these two?" the healer demanded.

"The report did not say. But if you want me to do something else with them you'd better getting them talking. For all we know they could deserve what the Institute will do to them," the healer made a strangled sound of protest, "get him talking."

He heard the door close as the woman walked out. He heard the healer sigh as sleep tugged even harder at him. This time he allowed it to take him and pull him away, like a boat going out to sea. But not before he heard the healer murmur.

"No-one deserves what the Institute will do to you."

Then he dreamed. He dreamed of war, of fire, of people screaming. He could feel the smooth wrappings of his sword as he swung the blade. He felt flesh and bone and muscle and tendon all give way beneath the curve of metal. He took no joy in taking lives but he knew it was necessary. The ones with the bones outside their skin, they had to die. Light flashed from them, ripping through him but still he fought. When the blades reformed and the spells ceased to be useful he fought. When the ice melted and the darkness began to roll in he swung the sword harder than before. Everything in him screamed to survive, to fight even if he did not win--especially if he did not win. But even as that happened he could hear another part of him beg for darkness, for the end of suffering. The two sides seemed to fight within him, the battle of his soul just as agonizing, just as confusing as the one going on around him. But still he fought, he struggled onwards and something inside him knew that he had been doing that for an impossibly long period of time.

Then the world vanished in agony and he was gasping for air, falling like an angel thrown out of heaven.

There were other angels with him, falling like he was with white billowing around them. His hand had reached upwards desperately, his fingers just brushing something that could have saved him before he was lost forever. The impact knocked the breath from his lungs and the water that enclosed him was so cold, so harsh, so _heavy_ that he knew he would not breath again. He struggled to inhale regardless. The body he was in, he knew it was not his own, but it needed air. He had to breath--

He woke screaming.

But for the life of him he could not remember. Not his name, not what he looked like and not the dream that had sent him back to the waking world in such a state of terror.

He could not remember anything.


	4. Chapter 4

**Okay so in the second part of this story, the song that Uryuu is hearing is called "Ave Maria" The version I have is by Christina England.**

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"Subject appears to be a male in his mid-20s--"

"Stop!" the healer looked up, "speak normally."

With a sigh the healer walked over to the second man that they had found. This one looked as eccentric as the other did plain. Inky lines traced almost every inch of visible skin, including his forehead and the skin left bare by the drastic widow's peak he had. When they had stripped him to change his cloths they had discovered the lines were _everywhere_ on his body. By contrast his hair was very long and very red, falling well past his shoulders in a violently colored wave. Unlike the other one he had not moved since they found him. Only the rise and fall of his chest let them known that this man was not dead.

"He's a guy," the healer said, "he looks like he's in his mid-20s, maybe late 20s but its hard to tell," he looked over at another woman who sighed and stepped forward, tucking a lock of her long hair behind her ear.

"The tattoos are completely healed, none of them are recent enough to show when they were done but given the tone and precision of the lines I'd guess they're old school style, needle and hammer," the gathered audience winced in pain, "the designs though, I've got no idea."

"Well aren't they just tribal style?" the healer asked blankly. She glared at him like he had just insulted her art which, ironically, he had.

"There are many different kinds of tribal tattoos," she said, "some don't have a distinct type but something this extensive, there's got to be a reason. Work like this, this, there's a reason for these markings. You don't just get a body suite in one style for no reason."

"Could they be Samoan?"

"Not a chance," she said, "the lines are too bold and the placement is completely wrong."

"So this guy has a full body suite from a tribe that no-one can identify and he fell out of the sky," the Captain repeated.

"Well I'm sure _someone_ can identify it, I just can't," the artist shrugged.

The healer picked up his arm and turned it over. Just like the other one there was no indication of any sort of harm. Like angels cast out of heaven the two of them had fallen with only the ocean to break their fall--not the ideal thing to hit. Now they lay there, completely unconscious except for the moments when the other one had woken up. He hadn't done it since he bolted up in the middle of the night screaming. Now he remained completely unaware of the world around him. Lucky bastard, there were times when they all wished that they too could have such a luxury. Unfortunately if the two of them didn't wake up and start talking soon, they weren't going to be waking up at all until they were in the hands of the Institute.

"Alright go," the healer said, "I've got to examine him and you all aren't going to be here to oogle him."

"You just want him all to yourself," the artist teased before the Captain motioned them all out.

The healer sighed and shook his head, walking over to the bathroom to get out the first aide supplies.

A groan froze him in his tracks.

He raced back to the patient. The man furrowed his brow, the inky lines on his forehead knitting together as he forced his eyes open. The healer's heart sank. Just like with the other one his eyes were foggy and confused. He had no idea where he was and the healer was willing to bet a lot of money that he had no idea _who_ he was either. The red haired man turned his face towards the healer, his eyes struggling to focus. His tongue swiped across his lips in a failed search for moisture. The healer grabbed one of the waterbottles and slid his hand behind the man's head. His hair was still dry from the salt water, the priority was not on caring for his hair. Still he guided his head up and allowed the water to trickle down his throat.

"Easy," he said setting the water bottle down, "you're safe now."

"Safe," his voice was a hoarse rasp followed by a bitter, thready chuckle, as if the idea of safety was a mocking one, "who are you?"

The healer frowned, his assumption was wrong. This one was more lucid than the other. He, at least, was able to ask questions and respond to things. Naturally the healer was reluctant to give his name. if these two were headed for the Gabriel Institute the less they knew about them the better. But still, his eyes seemed so confused the healer felt the emotions that had always kept him from being any sort of competent doctor fill him.

"Hiro," he said, giving his nickname, "I'm Hiro. You are?"

"I'm--" his brow furrowed, "I'm--"

"Relax," Hiro soothed him, "you've been through a traumatic incident. Its understandable that you're going to have some memory loss."

"Why is the ground moving?"

"You're a ship," he said.

"A ship," he repeated, his voice a bit stronger, "i used to have a boat," he said, his lips curving into the oddest smile, "I put it in my bathtub."

"You're lucky I'm a compassionate man," he said, "and I won't tell anyone what you're saying."

"You can tell him," he replied, "he could use a good joke--never smiles enough even now. He should smile more, makes him look less weird," he exhaled in a sigh, "though that one time, he looked kinda creepy."

"Who?" he asked looking down at him.

"I don't know," he said, his brow furrowing deeper before the lines smoothed out after he winced at the pain that shot through his head.

"Its okay," Hiro said, "don't push yourself. This is the first time you've been conscious since we found you."

"How long?" he asked.

"A while," he said, "just rest."

The red haired man exhaled and nodded, his eyes closing as he drifted back to sleep. Hiro looked down at the sleeping red head. Though he had questions, though they all had questions he clearly had no idea who he was, much less the events that had brought him to their ship. Hiro stood up and walked out of the room, making sure to close the door tightly behind him. Outside he ran his hand through his hair in frustration.

His own appearance was drastically normal compared to the man on the bed, hell his appearance was normal compared to the rest of the crew. His features were sharp and defined, contrasting with his too long hair. He always meant to get it cut and always wound up getting caught up in other business before he could accomplish the task. His hair was brown, not lightened by the endless hours spent in the sun. His skin remained pale too, contrasting sharply with his green eyes. His bangs really were becoming a problem though, always getting in his eyes instead of staying off like they should.

"Did he wake up?"

Hiro turned his head. The Captain was standing at the end of the hallway, her eyes glinting angrily as she looked at him. Not for the first time Hiro wondered why she did business with the Gabriel Institute. Perhaps she believed in that old saying "closer to danger, further from harm". After all it was not as though the people at the Institute saw their faces when they dropped off the merchandise or whatever the Institute wanted. It was not like jobs from the Institute were the only ones that they took, they just happened to be the most unpleasant ones--usually.

"Yes," he said, knowing he could lie about as well as he could shoot, "he woke up. He's more aware of his surroundings than the other one, he told me that he knows someone who doesn't smile."

"Huh," she crossed her arms, "maybe he knows Bordello."

"Unless Bordello became a man since we saw her he wasn't talking about her," he said, "we can't take them to the Institute."

"This is your word against a _lot_ of money," she said, her eyes narrowing at the suggestion.

"I know that. But we found them in the middle of the ocean. The Institute knew they'd be around here, they knew someone would pick them up and they want them very badly."

"This is sounding like either a way to get more money or some stupid noble argument that I'm going to have to shoot down," she said.

"I'll go with the money argument," he said, knowing it would be much more effective, "lets find out _why_ the institute is after them, then we can get a lot more money for them."

"Though I know that's not why you want to keep these pets," she said with a sigh, "I know you're right," she looked up at him, "alright you have a deal. Until we find out why someone would want these two freaks, we'll keep them," she turned and walked down the hallway, "But," she called over her shoulder "you're responsible for feeding and walking them. Any sort of messes they make you have to clean up."

"Yeah yeah," he said feeling his lips quirk up.

"I'm serious young man, having a pet is a responsibility!"

Hiro snorted and went to go and check on his second 'pet', wondering why she couldn't just call them human.

* * *

Today there was music.

Though his eyes were blind, his limbs were useless, his mouth silent, his ears seemed to be working just fine. Uryuu remembered the piece, it was something his father had played once back when they acted as a father and son should. He could not have been more than a boy, but the woman's voice seemed to weave through him like magic. He remembered sitting in the study with his father, he might have even been on his lap, and the oman was singing, her voice coming out of the CD player. He did not understand the words that came out of her mouth but, then again, that could have made the piece even more magical. Perhaps if he knew what she was singing about he would not have cared as much.

Now with his senses robbed, the woman's voice was even more magical than it had been all those years ago. He still did not know the words, he still found he did not care. His drugged mind could supply the language she was singing in and a handful of the words she said but the rest of the song remained a mystery. He found he liked it that way. If he could have he would have closed his eyes and once again simply let the melody carry him away. As it was he did not need to close his eyes, really he was just skipping a step.

He had gotten out of surgery recently. From the ache in his leg he knew it had been to deal with that. The break was a bad one, he knew his leg was immobilized but it was not in a cast. They must have used pins to stabilize his shattered bone. Uryuu sighed into the oxygen mask around his face. He would probably be moved to a nasal canal soon. Well, as they kept telling him, small steps in the right direction. As long as that direction wasn't the direction of the window. He felt his lips twist into a cynical smile. Their fears were ill placed: at the moment he couldn't walk anyway. The pins in his bone prevented that.

"Good morning Ishida."

The peppy nurse was back.

"The surgery went very well. With extensive physical therapy Director Ishida is confident that you'll walk again."

Director Ishida.

Ryuuken Ishida.

His father.

He still refused to have anything to do with his son, not that Ishida saw much wrong with the scenario. When he was dying there wasn't a force in the world that could keep his father from his side but as long as he was functioning there was nothing to bring his father to his side. Well perhaps it was better that way. After all, he had betrayed his father just as much as his father had abandoned him. He was no better than Ryuuken Ishida, not anymore. Maybe he deserved to be here, lying on the hospital bed, his body more a prison than any sort of gift. He had heard about hopeless cases from his father but he had never understood them, not until he became one anyway. He had never understood a lot of things until he found himself lying in the hospital bed.

Though he had seen what happened after death, Uryuu had always found religion a bit hard to swallow, especially the part about a God and an infinite plan. Maybe because he had seen so much unfairness in the world, for family, for his people, the idea that there was a higher power who wanted that to happen seemed to be little more than cruel joke to him. He was not one for believing in things without proof and the only thing he had gotten proof of was that unfairness was rampant in the world. The fact that he was lying there, the fact that what happened had happened, it was all too unfair for him to consider it as part of some great plan or design.

"Now tell me if you can feel this."

The next was a series of pricks and prods as they nurse made sure his appendages all had feeling. Of course they did, the ones where the skin was healed anyway. He had snatched information about his injuries like a child catching fireflies. His right leg was shattered, the burns were mostly to his torso and his forearms. Doctors measured burns in term of the Rule of Nines, the body divided into neat and even sections of Nine. Fitting, really. Uryuu had read the Divine Comedy back when his eyes were working. He remembered Dante speaking of the Nine circles of Hell. Apparently Uryuu was there. By the Rule of Nines, 54% of his body had suffered burns of some sort. Not all were sever but they were all there. He was going to be as decorated as Renji Abarai before this was over.

"Alright Mr. Ishida, you're recovering nicely," the nurse said. Uryuu reminded himself sternly that reaching across the bed was going to hurt him a lot more than it would hurt her. It was not as though he would have the strength to do any sort of damage to her once he sat up fully, "I'll see you in a few hours."

As always, Uryuu said nothing, the sound of the door closing the most comforting thing he heard since she entered the room. Uryuu sighed and shifted against the pillows before he took a deep breath and let the music carry him away.

As always the nurse walked into the elevator to give his son's file to Director Ishida. This time though when she knocked on the door she could hear voices. Director Ishida called for her to enter and she did, hurrying in like a nervous schoolgirl giving a late paper to a professor. Sitting across from him was a woman. She was dressed in an expensive looking suite, her dark hair pulled into a tight coil at the back of her skull. Wire rimmed glasses perched on her nose as she looked across the way at Director Ishida. He seemed to be his usual enigmatic, harsh self as he tended to be with the people who came to his office. Even his old friend, Dr. Kurosaki received no special treatment from him. This woman seemed completely unaffected by his harshness, as though she dealt with such things on a regular basis.

"What you are suggesting is impossible," Ryuuken said looking across the desk at the woman who sat there, "Miss--"

"Doctor," she cut in, her voice smooth as she gave a small, enigmatic smile, "Dr. Elise Bordello," she reiterated, no annoyance showing that he did not remember her name, "the Institute I represent specializes in cutting edge treatments."

Ryuuken said nothing as he looked at the file in front of him. His mind sorted through the medical jargon to come up with the gist of the words: there was a procedure that could help Uryuu regain his eyesight. He knew that if there was one thing that was breaking his son, it was the fact that his eyes were useless. He had flown in specialists, called in every personal favor he had but the reply was always the same. An apology followed by the news that the chances his son would regain use in either of his eyes was almost non existent. At the moment the most optimistic diagnosis was that Uryuu would regain eyesight so limited that he would be considered legally blind. No shooting, no driving, nothing. His son would be helpless for a while and what was worse, he would be hopeless for a while still. Though Ryuuken would have liked to believe that emotions played no role in recovery, he had seen far too much to contradict that.

"If I gave my consent for this--"

"Mr. Ishida would be airlifted to our facility in Italy," she said, "since the treatment is highly experimental there would be," she paused, "risks, involved," she looked at him, "but so far the results have been very positive."

"I can see that," he said.

"As I'm sure you can understand, Director Ishida, my time in Japan is extremely limited," she said, "as are the spots in our trial," she continued, "as I review each subject personally,I can confidently say the chances we can help your son are high," she stood up, "I will need your answer within the next 48 hours."

"I understand," he said standing up.

"Thank you for you time, Director Ishida," she said, "I look forward to working with you in the near future."

Ryuuken watched her walk away and sat back at his desk to look more thoroughly at the file. There was a buzz as his secretary tried to get in touch with him. Gritting his teeth in frustration, Ryuuken pressed the button that allowed them to talk to each other.

"I'm sorry to disturb you, Director Ishida but your next appointment is here."

Ryuuken looked at the file in front of him and the one next to it.

"Tell him he's going to have to reschedule," he said.

"I'm sorry Director Ishida, but he says he can't do that," she said.

Ryuuken looked at the device angrily before talking again.

"Fine. Tell Mr. Cross he had five minuets."

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**Okay so new chapter in a week and a half or so, I'm going off to Cozumel, Mexico for vacation. **

**Character profiles will be up soon to help you all keep track of the OCs. **


	5. Chapter 5

**Okay we're going to clear this up right now.**

**This is NOT just an IchiRuki fic!**

**This is an ensemble story with multiple pairings. I know you all have your favorite ships and so on and so forth. All I ask is that you prepare yourself for a variety. The only ships that will NOT under any circumstances be in this story--or any other--are Ishihime, RenjiRuki or HitsuMatsu. Also there isn't going to be any Yaoi or Yuri in this story either. I don't have anything against those I just tend not to write them. So please resist the urge to review/pm/im me with angst because you thought you were in for an ichiruki lovefest or you loath one of the couples that come up.**

**Oh and thank you for all your warm wishes for a safe trip! I had a great time in Cozumel and I'm glad to be home!**

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A soft groan woke Isshin from his light sleep.

Blinking sleep out of his eyes the former Shingiami jumped to his feet and crossed the narrow distance to where his son was. Ichigo was still asleep, his featured deceptively serene. Disappointment at the lack of change and relief than he hadn't bolted upright screaming battled inside Isshin. He looked at his son's prone form. Ichigo was laying there looking every bit like a long term hospital patient. The nurses at Karakura hospital were very good. Every tube was in place, every IV bag full enough not to need to be changed. Ichigo looked as healthy as he could given the circumstances.

"Damn it, Ichi," he swore using his old nickname for the man who had long since outgrown it, "you gotta help me out, I don't know what's wrong with you."

"Mr. Kurosaki?"

Isshin looked over at the door. Standing there was a man who clearly did not belong in a place like Karakura Town. Everything from his tailored suite to the impeccable shine on his shoes spoke of wealth, the kind of wealth that one did find in places like Karakura. His light brown hair was rather long but carefully cut, not a strand out of place. Behind the reflection of the light on the lenses of his glasses, his odd ruby eyes spoke of the cool detachment that he most often saw in the Kuchiki family. With no invitation from Isshin he walked into the room, his eyes sweeping over Ichigo before they went back to Isshin.

"Who are you?" Isshin asked looking at him.

"Mr. Cross," he said.

"You're gonna have to do better than that.

"Parker Cross," he said.

"Odd name."

"Not for my family," he said, his lips curving into a smile as he reached into the breast of his blaze and pulled out a business card, extending it to Isshin. He took it and looked at the moniker, "we're in antiquities."

"What are you doing in Karakura Town?" he demanded, "no offense but I don't think we've got anything that would interest you."

"What interests me here is strictly personal," he said walking over to Ichigo. Isshin watched him warily, "so this is him," he looked at Ichigo, "the boy who fell from the sky."

"What did you say?" he demanded, feeling like ice had been dumped on him.

"Do you know that girl?" he demanded looking from Ichigo to Isshin, "really little, can't be more than, ah, this high," he held out a hand, "black hair? She's got an odd sword with her that's got red wrappings--"

Isshin slammed the door shut and Parker breathed a sigh of relief. It was a low low move on his part bringing that girl into this but if he got this guy to be angry enough to tell Elise Bordello to shove her pretty head up her ass, then it was worth it. Isshin Kurosaki turned to him looking pissed off enough. He walked right over to Parker. They were about the same height but the fury in Isshin's eyes made him seem much much taller than Parker knew he was. Inwardly he wished for his phone to ring so he could take a moment to figure out exactly what he was going to tell a man who looked like he wanted nothing more than to rip him into tiny pieces. he shoved the desire down. he had dealt with far more frightening men than Isshin Kurosaki, they just usually knew who he was and what the consequences of killing him would be.

"What did you say?" Isshin demanded.

The description of this girl, it sounded like Rukia Kuchiki. The Shinigami girl had disappeared with the rest of Soul Society right when ichigo had been returned far more dead than alive. But if he had seen her--no he couldn't have seen her. Rukia was a Spirit, a Shinigami. Unless she was in a gigai, but Shinigami did not carry their Zanpakto when they were in gigai. The Vizards could but they were a drastic exception to the rule. Parker continued to look at him from behind his glasses, no fear in his eyes despite the fact that Isshin knew his desire to murder him was plain on his face.

"I asked if you knew that girl," Parker repeated, "clearly you do and she is very dear to you," he glanced over. If he had to guess he would guess that she was also very dear to the man on the bed but he wasn't going to tell the angry man that he figured that out, "in a minuet or so a woman named Doctor Elise Bordello is going to want to talk to you. She's gotten to the director of the hospital already. If you want to know what I know, you're going to send her away."

"Send her--"

"Do it!" he said, his voice leaving no room for argument as he walked over to the bathroom, "oh, and don't tell her I'm here either," he added closing the door behind him.

**

* * *

**

The chains held his wrists high above his head, cold metal biting cruelly into the soft flesh underneath. The blood that snaked down his suspended arms was almost insignificant compared the rest that had been let from him. It all snaked down his skin and dripped onto the floor that his toes were barely able to drag against. He had never realized how pale he really was until the day that he was painted in the harsh ruby of his own blood. The weak green light that filtered through the bars of wherever he was gave no clue to his location except that he was in a place where there was no sky, no sun, nothing. It was all just a blur, like every memory that he was supposed to have. The agony, the dehydration, the hunger--it all took the place of things as insignificant as memories and emotions.

"You're making this much harder than it has to be."

He looked over at his tormentor, bile rising along with the blood in his throat. She continued to walk slow, methodical circles around him, her high shoes clicking on the stone. the rest of her was all curves encased in black leather, a demon with an angel's voice. Nothing she wore existed in Soul Society. It was as though she had been plucked from the world he visited so rarely and deposited here just for him, a present under the christmas tree. She continued to walk with slow, methodical steps as though she had all the time in the world, as though _they_ had all the time in the world. He tried to let his eyes watch the sway of her hips or the swish of her cropped hair, just as long as he didn't look at her face. He couldn't look at her face without being sick.

The steps approached his back suddenly, the clicking becoming muffled by the puddle of his blood on the ground. Suddenly her hands were at his cheek, guiding his face towards hers. He squeezed his eyes shut. He might have been strong, he might have been a hero even but even he had his limits--though he was loath to admit it. Her hand was gloved with the same soft leather as it slid up his cut and stubbled cheek, the tips of her fingers resting on his cheekbone as her thumb caressed his jaw. He could feel her breath, he could smell her perfume, her lips were even close enough for him to imagine the touch of the gloss against his own skin.

"Stop being so foolish," she whispered.

He knew she would not tell him any secrets, offer reassurances, she would do none of that. Their proximity, it was just another tool for her to use. She had not been like this, not before. Had that been an illusion as well? Was he really nothing more than a toy to her? He could not think of that, not now or he really would break. He would shatter like a piece of glass. Her breasts pressed against the taught muscles of his back, the blood touching the dark of her shirt but not seeping into the fabric or the skin. He clearly had not left his mark on her, certainly not to the degree that she had left on him. Her hand yanked away from him finally, his head snapping to the other side before lolling forward. Her fingers twined through his hair in a gesture that was mockingly comforting before they pulled his head back.

"You never had much sense of self improvement did you?" she shook her head, her breath teasing the back of his skin, "self preservation but for all you accomplished you always were the underachiever," he felt the tacky, glossed lips touch the back of his neck, "always sabotaging yourself in an effort to prove you were different," her fingers drew away, "pathetic."

"DId you ever care?" he did not know where he found the strength to speak, only that the harsh rasp was his voice.

The amused snort of disbelief stung worse than any blow could.

"Don't be ridiculous. I _told_ you I didn't care. You were just too stupid to listen."

He squeezed his eyes shut.

When he pried them open he was back in his room on the ship, the air above him fading in and out of focus. He bolted upright in bed, choking on nothing but the air in the room and the spit in his mouth. They had fed him something because his stomach rebelled. Someone thrust something under his mouth as he vomited whatever they gave him into the bucket. After three dry heaves they withdrew the bucket. He kept his eyes shut, trying to ignore the taste of bile that clung to his mouth. His body was trembling, the fabric of whatever he was wearing was stuck to his torso, sticky with sweat.

"Here."

He shook his head almost violently at the prospect of whatever they were offering him. He did not know what he saw behind his eyes but he never wanted to eat or drink again. The voice was feminine and accented so unlike _hers_ but he could not bring himself to open his eyes. A soft sigh was followed by the sound of a glass being set down somewhere behind him. At that he dared to open his eyes. He was in the same room he vaguely remembered. The ground was moving beneath him, though he was sure that it was only partially in his mind. His knees were drawn up to his chest as his hands were white-knuckled around the fabric of the sheet that covered him.

"You need to drink something," the voice came again.

He looked over at the woman sitting there. Long honey blond hair fell past her shoulders almost to mid-back. Bangs slashed across her forehead, right above her blue grey eyes. Her skin was creme colored, odd considering she probably spent a lot of time in the sun but given the fact she was in a man's shirt with the sleeves pushed up, he had a feeling she took precautions against the damage. Next to the chair she was sitting in was a leather pad, too big to be for writing. A few sticks of ebony charcoal had lay on the leather, smudging the covering. Her fingertips were also stained black with the charcoal both from drawing and where she had smudged the lines. Her other hand held a glass of water.

He tried to ask who she was but he could not make his voice work. Sympathy filled her eyes.

"You've screamed yourself hoarse," she said with a shake of her head as she tucked a lock of blond behind her ear, a smudge of charcoal staining her skin, "try to drink something, please. You probably threw up everything that we managed to get you to eat--"

He did not remember eating.

"Here, just rinse your mouth out. You can spit in here," she said offering the waist basket. His hand shook as his fingers reached for the glass. She kept her hand on it, ignoring his obvious need for a show of strength as she tipped the cool water into his throat. He filled his mouth and spat the water into the wastebasket. He drank more after that, "good job," she said as if she was congratulating a child on a job well done.

"Mirabelle."

The woman turned to the door. His eyes followed her. Standing in the door was a man with chocolate hair that fell into his eyes. He was wearing a t-shirt and a pair of loose pants that barely covered his knee caps. His eyes widened at the sight of the two of them and he hurried into the room, closing the door and swearing under his breath as he locked it. He walked over to them with purposeful strides and took in the sight of the two of them.

"When did he wake up?" he demanded.

"Not that long ago Hiro," she said with a shake of her head, the blond hair she had tucked behind her ear coming free and falling across her shoulders, "I would have come to get you but--" her eyes went to the waste basket, "he needed me."

"He needs a doctor," Hiro said with a shake of his head, "he needs a hospital with equipment and tools and things that we don't have," he looked at the man, pity shining in his eyes, "I don't know what's wrong with either of them, just that they're not getting any better."

"He's awake," she said, "he's lucid. That's an improvement."

"He just puked up whatever nourishment we managed to give him," his eyes locked on the man in the bed, "do you know you're name?"

"My--" he stopped, the agony in his throat too much to continue.

"Don't try to talk," the woman, Mirabelle, ordered, "_Hiro_," she scolded the healer, "he can't talk," she looked back at him," try to rest," she said.

If he slept he would dream.

If he dreamed---

"I'll give him something," Hiro said though he was loath to do anything of the sort.

He watched as Hiro walked over to the dresser and pulled open a drawer, rifling through it to come up with an orange plastic bottle. He opened the lid and pulled out two white pills. He placed them on the table and closed the bottle, putting it carefully back into the drawer. He took the glass and pressed it on top of the pills, crushing them underneath. He scooped the white powder into the glass and swirled the foggy water before handing it to him.

"Drink," he said.

He drank.

"You're not going to dream tonight," the woman said with a smile, "and if you do, I'm here and I'll wake you right up okay?" he felt his body being lowered, hands doing what atrophied muscles could not, "just sleep."

_Just close your eyes._

_Just sleep_

He did.

**

* * *

**

With a soft gasp, Matsumoto appeared in the public bathroom of a restaurant in Karakura Town, gigai in hand. She yanked it on faster than she ever had in her entire life. Ignoring the pain the quick movement sent through her she waited for it to neutralize her Spiritual Power. Satisfied that it had she walked over and locked the door of the bathroom, leaning against it and closing her eyes for a moment to catch her breath. Opening them she looked into the mirror and tried not to be too appalled with what she saw.

The scar on her side was the worst. Kira had done his best but the skin was a disgusting molted color, a mass of fresh scar tissue reflected on the skin of the gigai. Even pale her grey eyes were huge and her strawberry blond hair fell in a tumble. She did not think she looked good but se knew many would disagree. Pulling the black bag she had brought up, Matsumoto went about the process of making herself ugly. She wound bandages around her torso and pulled on the minimizing bra to make her breasts look as small as she could. The shapeless baggy shirt hid them further and the pants were loose enough so she looked as shapeless as possible. Her hands shook as she wound her hair into a sever bun, securing it with a handful of pins.

The sob that escaped her lips was a surprise.

Matsumoto looked up frantically to see the ugly creature in the mirror had tears leaking out of her eyes. Her lips were trembling and her cheeks were blotchy. Matsumoto felt her throat tighten even more at the sight of the creature staring back at her. She never looked so terrible in her entire life. It was a superficial thing, hardly a thing to worry about at all given the circumstances but it seemed as though it was the final straw. The next sob shook her entire body. Matsumoto gripped the sink as her body shook, tears dripping hot and fast down her cheeks as she gasped for air while trying to be as quiet as she could. The last thing she needed was to get anyone's attention.

It was hard to force the sobs down, to take the raging emotions and shove them into something manageable. Compared to what she had done in the past few days it shouldn't have been but it still was. She had never been very beautiful when she cried so she supposed that this was just something that helped her disguise. Grabbing the tennis shoes and hat in the bag she pulled on the last few pieces of her outfit and zipped up her backpack, sliding it on and ducking out of the bathroom. She hurried out of the restaurant keeping her head down and not looking at any of the customers even though she could have sworn she felt eyes on her. She ignored the sensation and hurried into the bright sunlight, careful to keep her head down.

How had this happened?

How had it come to this?

Biting her lip furiously Matsumoto hurried towards the white hospital. This was the last place she wanted to be, the last place she wanted to be running too but it was where she ad to be. he would be furious that she broke the rules of their agreement, of his exile but she did not care, not now and certainly not about that. She had been respectful and dutiful and all the things her position required, the position that was no more than a faint, distant memory. She caught glimpses of him but it had been many many years and the distance and memories between them had always helped her keep up the charade. Besides she was one of the Shinigami his son's friends knew. They did not interact, not really. Even if they did she knew she would laugh and flit and toss her hair and he would act like men usually did around her. They would not mention what they had been once so long ago, what they would never be again. He had made his choice, she had made hers and when all was said and done that was the only thing that mattered.

It did not matte that he had been one of her lovers and she one of his.

It did not matter that he had been the first Captain she served.

He made his choice and he had not chosen her, not in terms of Soul Society, not in terms of his heart. She did not think she had ever really loved him. There was only one man she had ever really loved but that did not mean she had not had he lovers. Drunken sloppy kisses with Hisagi, her fingers twining through his coal black hair and with Kira who always surprised her with the strength of his arms around her waist. She had even kissed Zaraki once but it had been a particularly odd day and the experience was unpleasant consider he was bent practically in half and Yachiru was on his shoulder singing odd rhymes. The list of men who had her body was long but there was only one who had her heart.

He too had chosen someone else.

Thankfully by the time she got to the hospital she looked distraught and terrible, every bit an anxious patient. The nurse gave her the number of his room and she hurried to the elevator, stepping inside and closing the door behind her. The door was open. She ignored the sight of Ichigo looking like _that_ on the bed and focused on the familiar lines of his back. He looked odd in the suite, she was sure she would never get used to seeing him like that. She did not know if she really wanted to get used to seeing him like that. She practically staggered across the threshold, her feet suddenly seeming impossibly heavy. He turned at the heavy footsteps, his eyes so familiar that the tears started all over again. Shock was written all over his face but whether it was at the sight of her or at the sight of her looking like she did, she would never know.

"Rangiku," he breathed her name, the name he hadn't called her since he left.

"C-captain!" she wailed the name she hadn't called him since he left before she threw herself into his arms, her sobs shaking her entire body.

"Alright!" the bathroom door opened, "lets get down to--" Parker froze, "who the hell are you?! Did the Gabriel Institute send you?!"

"Calm down, Mr. Cross," Isshin said, "its alright. She's not from the Institute."

"How can you be sure?"

"Because I know her."

"How?"

"Matsumoto and I--" he looked at her, "we go way back."

"How way back?"

Isshin felt for the first time like smiling.

"You said you're in antiques right?"


	6. Chapter 6

**Sorry about the delay, I posted the wrong chapter. Here's the reworked right one!  


* * *

**

When he risked opening his eyes again, the first thing the man saw was a head of hair so violently red that it threatened to send him scrambling for something to vomit into all over again. He stared into the eyes of the man, unable to figure out why someone would have that many tattoos, especially where this man had them. His brow furrowed as his mind began to work, like a clock that had just been wound after a long period of stillness. The gears were rusty, dusty as well, they were not moving like they should be but the fact they were moving at all was a miracle unto itself. He felt his brow furrow further as he reached up and prodded the man's forehead.

"Did that hurt?"

"I can't remember."

His eyes widened as he looked at the man, surprise in his face. He couldn't remember either? Did that mean they were somehow connected? He pushed himself up as the red headed man scooted back, maintaing their distance but never widening it. That was annoying but not that creepy. If it was not creepy then clearly he _knew_ this red haired man with his strange tattoos and long ruby hair--but for the life of him he could not say how he did or what his name was, it was nothing more than a blur in his mind. His brow furrowed as he looked at the red haired man who continued to squat on the bed next to him. Slowly he swung his legs over the side of the bed and looked at him and then at the door, somehow knowing it was about to open.

"Kai--Kai you can't just--!"

The door slammed inwards to reveal a woman with shaggy black hair and eyes the color of cinnamon. She glared at the two of them, her gaze assessing their situation. They both looked back frankly as the man raced in on her heels. His eyes landed on them and widened, as though he was surprised to see them as they were.

"You're awake," he said looking directly at him, not the red haired man.

"You're supposed to be a girl," he said.

"I--am?" the man asked, his voice coming out strangled, as if he didn't quite know what to do with that information, "Red, am I supposed to be a girl?"

"You look like a boy to me," the red haired man said.

"Do you remember being healed by a woman?"

"I can't remember my own name! How am I supposed to remember being healed by a girl?" he demanded.

"Do you remember your name?" he asked the other man who shook his head, "but you remember a woman?" he nodded, "I think its safe to assume this one's older," he said walking over to the bed, "why don't you stand up and go over to the nice lady over there?" he suggested before turning to the man on the bed, "my name is Hiro. I'm not a girl but I've been helping you. Now I'm going to perform some routine tests on you--"

"He's awake?!"

The blond woman practically flew through the door. All their eyes locked on her but from the way she didn't react, he got the feeling that was a common thing. The three of them were dressed rather eccentrically. The healer, Hiro, was in a t-shirt and shorts that barely came to his knees while the woman, Kai he called her, she was dressed in a white tank top and low slung navy pants that displayed a finger-wide strip of tan skin between the end of her tank top and the top of her pants. In her hair he could see the lenses of her sunglasses. The woman was dressed in a long white shirt and equally long pale tan pants that left not an inch of skin showing. The hat on her head shaded her face and in her hand she held a pair of big sunglasses.

"Oh thank goodness!" she smiled, "how do you feel?"

"Alright," he said.

"This is Mirabelle," Hiro said, "she's created practically an entire gallery's work of art based on you and your friend over there."

"Do you remember your name?" she asked anxiously. He shook his head, "oh," she looked down, disappointment naked on her face, "well," she brightened, "no matter, I probably couldn't pronounce it anyway."

He felt himself smile, the gesture easy and familiar as if he was used to smiling a lot. He slowly pushed himself to his feet. His legs were unsteady but they seemed to work. He frowned and looked around, trying to figure out what he was looking for. He was looking for something, something familiar, something that should be there. But unfortunately whatever it was, his eyes found the mirror before his mind could figure it out. He went over to it as quickly as his legs would let him and bent down to inspect his face. Scruff darkened his cheeks, his eyes seemed sharp and bright even clouded by the fact he had not been awake in some time. He reached up and pulled at a lock of his hair. It was quite long. He didn't think it was supposed to be that long though.

Behind him Mirabelle turned to Kai.

"I found out where his tattoos are from," she whispered. Kai glanced at her, "the design comes from an painting depicting the legend of the Tale of Heiki which is an ancient folk lore tale told in Japan circa 1154," she looked at at him, "see its a variation on tiger stripes--"

"Are you serious? _Tiger _stripes? This guy is like cat man?" she looked over at him, "why isn't his hair orange?"

"No no no," she shook her head, "I said a _variation_," she looked at the man, "its probably a different type of tiger stripes, a variation," Kai frowned, "well legends are rarely exact. Artistic interpretation and all. It makes sense that these tattoos would be something primal, something that matures. He probably got those tattoos with every accomplishment."

"Even his head?"

She nodded.

"So if these two are connected, why doesn't that one have any markings?" she questioned.

"Well you're tan and I'm pale," she said, "there are any number of reasons," she said crossing her arms, "the two don't look alike, they're probably not related. Maybe they were just friends or brothers or lovers."

"Well the tattooed one _does_ look rather feminine with the hair--"

"Yes but the other is clearly the more delicate of the two," Mirabelle sighed, "well they don't remember each other so until we know more its hardly relevant," she looked at Kai, "you can't give them over to the Institute."

"You two?" she questioned hotly, "_what_ is it with you two and keeping these people?" she looked over her shoulder at the two of them, "keeping wanted criminals--" Mirabelle arched an eyebrow, "we might not be able to go to five sea-bordering countries without being thrown in jail but we don't have mad scientists hunting us down."

"Amazing!" they both turned at Hiro's shout.

"Not yet anyway and our doctor aside I'd prefer to keep it that way," she turned around, "what did you find Hiro?"

"Nothing," he said walking over to them.

"You look very excited about that," Kai said suspiciously.

"I am! There should be sign of trauma, of dehydration--" he stopped, looking like a kid who had just gotten the top things on his christmas list, "there's _nothing_. Its like they just appeared here," he looked at Kai, "whatever the Institute wants with them, whatever they're paying--its not half as much as they're worth."

Kai frowned and looked at the two of them and then at the two anxious members of her crew. They brought up a valid point. From the strange ancient tattoos that wound around the red haired man's body to the other's instant recovery, though she knew the Institute wanted them and would pay a lot for them, something was special about these two. She looked at Mirabelle and Hiro who looked at between them and then to the two of them with their vacant expressions. She had a feeling she was going to regret keeping them but even if she did decide to hand them over to the Institute there was no reason for them not to pay her just as much. Really there was little to loose, at least until she got information.

"I'm going to go and get in touch with Parker, he gives that place enough money to know something," she looked at the two of them.

"So they can stay?" Mirabelle asked.

"Yes," she said, "for now. Mirabelle, you're in charge of the red haired one. Hiro?"

"Yes?"

"Take care of the blond."

**

* * *

**

"What happened?" Isshin asked.

The two were sitting in the hospital room. Parker had excused himself when his phone rang. Now it was just the two of them sitting there with his unconscious son as she began to tell him what was going on.

"Its chaos," Matsumoto said pressing a hand to her forehead. Isshin looked at her, trying to fight the urge to demand answers, "after the War, the Commander General thought it would be best if we separated the worlds. We had all mixed far too much for it to be alright. We never expected--"

"Is that why Ichigo's like that?" he questioned.

"No," Matsumoto said, "Ichigo and Ishida were locked out here when Yamamoto ordered all the Gates closed. The only people allowed through are low level Shinigami who are allowed to collect souls but never engage in fighting or cause any sort of trouble. They were already like that," she looked over at the bed, "that's Aizen's doing. He created some kind of illusory world and locked your son in it," she looked at Ichigo's chest, "he transfered his remaining power to your son to keep him in there."

Isshin said nothing, his skin paling. So Matsumoto continued.

"We don't know where the Vizards are, only that they've decided to stop playing nice. Yamamoto sent a handful of guards to find them and bring them back," she shuddered, "we got them back in a jar--what was left of them anyway."

"That doesn't sound like the Vizards," he said.

"Its worse," she said, "some Shinigami were deemed too far blended or they refused to consider being separated. So they were dealt with," she closed her eyes tightly, "as traitors," she said, trying not to sound too close to tears.

"Traitors?" Isshin shut his eyes, "and then?" he looked at her.

"They were broken, stripped of their power and memories, caste out and sent to live in exile. A few of them were saved by their blood, Yoruichi, Rukia and Byakuya for instance. But about a week ago, Yamamoto rescinded the orders of separation to allow a group to go to the transient world."

"Why?" he questioned.

"The remnants of the Key Aizen created, they're gone. And Yamamoto discovered that the Key he has, the one no-one is supposed to know about--someone found it. Apparently that Key is broken and stored in separate places as well in case someone finds it. The fragments that were stolen were the same fragments that Aizen's Key was missing."

"Why wouldn't they just take the main key?" he questioned.

"We have no idea if Aizen did something to his key, something that would augment his power. Rukia was supposed to go with the team to prove that she was loyalty to Soul Society rather than Ichigo. Well, she disappeared. The best we know Mayuri thinks that she went to look for Aizen's sword. He believes some form of it survived as a sort of key to the enchantment thats holding Ichigo. She was sent to look for one key and wound up trying to find another."

"Why are _you_ here?" he asked.

"Soul Society--" she stopped, her fingers clenching, "its not the place it should be. Everyone knows what's been done, this separation, its necessary but it feels so _wrong_ it just, it just can't be right," she looked at him, "Rukia's in trouble. She wouldn't have just _vanished_. She's in trouble. No matter what they say we can or can't do--" she trailed off, "we can't just let our friends be in trouble without going to help them."

"What does her brother think about this?" he asked.

"Byakuya?" Matsumoto gave a snort of disapproval and frustration, " who the hell knows? The man doesn't show anything on his face. I though we'd at least know what Yoruichi was thinking but--but she's as closed off as he is now. No-one knows what they're thinking and _they_ aren't going to tell us. Its as if people are holding the cards and no-one's showing--"

"Hey, uh, sorry to interrupt," the turned to see Parker come back into the room, "but I think I found two more of your friends."

"Who? What do they look like?" Matsumoto demanded jumping to her feet.

"Ah ah ah," he shook his finger, "you first," he looked at the two of them, "you gotta tell me what's going on," they traded glances, "we are _way_ past keeping secrets. See, I'll give you another little freebie. I know you're friend, the black haired doll-like one? Thanks to the wonders of modern technology, me and about ten other very wealthy benefactors and assorted high level clearance personal are aware that your little friend isn't exactly among the living."

They both gaped at him, stunned beyond word. People knew? But how--how could they possibly know? Was he bluffing? Jumping to the conclusion that someone was dead when everything said they were alive, that was a rather large leap. From the glint in his eyes it was clear that he truly believed Rukia was dead. Either Parker Cross was a very good poker player or he was telling the truth. But if he was telling the truth the problem should have been taken care of. Memories erased--but Soul Society had washed its hands of the transient world except for low level Shinigami to reap souls. They imagined Rukia had defected but until they knew more they it was not as though they could send a task force after her, not without undoing everything that had been done.

"You're right," Isshin said, "she is dead."

"I know," Parker rolled his eyes, "though if she was a zombie i thought she'd be a bit more, uh, decaying."

"Artificial body," Isshin said, "where is she?"

"An underwater facility, I'm not sure where," he said. They traded looks, "I hate small towns," he muttered, "the Gabriel Institute is a privately funded international research institute. They technical are in international waters so they're not under the jurisdiction of anyone--not that anyone would try to bring them down," he paused, "they found your friend with a new type of goggles. They were using them to look for survivors in rubble and wound up seeing your friend."

"Oh no," Matsumoto looked over at Ichigo and then over to Isshin, "they know about us."

"Wait--us?!" Parker demanded, "you two are dead too? Is he dead?!" he looked at Ichigo, "wait, he's your son, so he's _half_ dead?!" his eyes widened, "oh my God, you can reproduce? Aren't you supposed to be dead?! How do you--never mind, you remind me of my dad. I don't want to know. But man," he scratched the back of his neck, "that's just wrong.

"Who were the two people your friend found?" Isshin asked, changing the subject away from the mention of his sex life.

"Some red head guy, lots of tattoos," he said.

"Renji. His name is Renji Abarai," Matsumoto said, "whose the other?"

"Blond guy, grey eyes," he said.

"That might be Kisuke Urahara," Matsumoto said instantly. Isshin's eyes widened, "Urahara wouldn't renounce the Vizards or you guys. We all thought he was still in the Maggots Nest--" she looked down, "apparently he had been caste out already. Do they remember anything?"

"No. They're calling them red and blond," he said, "they don't even remember their name. The only thing is the blond guy--Uarahara--keeps saying that keeps saying that the medic should be a girl."

"It could be Urahara or it could be Shinji. There hasn't been any word that they found him but it wouldn't surprise me if the Commander General did and just didn't tell us. He didn't even tell us Urahara was out of the Maggot's Nest. He wouldn't flaunt that he had Shinji."

The two of them looked at each other and then at Parker. Parker looked at the half dead boy who looked like he was about to be just as dead. He felt rather stupid. When they had said that they found one girl he should have realized that there would be more of them. Apparently there were half bloods as well. Half bloods and older guys and really _really _ hot chicks who, he had a feeling, were way older than they looked. He frowned as his phone buzzed. He fished his phone out of his pocket and examined the screen.

"Excuse me," he said walking to the door and peering outside, "shit," he swore when he saw Elise, "sorry," he said closing the door and taking the call, "i don't want it," he said, "what the hell would I want with a shattered glass ball?"

The two traded looks. Matsumoto hurried over.

"Glass ball?"

Parker raised an eyebrow.

"Shattered," he said, "weird violet gla--"

"Buy it," she ordered.

"Huh?! Do you know how much this thing is going for?"

"Not as much as its worth," she said, "buy it now."

Muttering he agreed to buy it, wondering if there would ever be a day when he would finally be able to say no to pretty women.


	7. Chapter 7

"We got a hit on the orb."

Elise turned to the man standing in her hotel room.

"Who?" she questioned.

"Alderic Artifacts," he said, "they have agreed to pay the full asking price."

Elise Bordello's eyes narrowed. Parker Cross was willing to pay the full price for an incomplete glass orb? Unlikely. Alderic Artifacts had enough treasure hunters of their own to avoid most of the auctions and sales except to put their own up for bid. It was strange that they would buy on anything, stranger still that it would be this item. She hadn't shown it to any of the benefactors, in fact, she hadn't shown it to anyone past her superiors and only because she had too. Carefully she rose up, passing a hand down the invisible wrinkles in her skirt. She had put it on the market without the intention of selling it. It was bait, nothing more. No-one would pay the obscene amount of money for what the orb obviously was. Not unless they knew that it was far more valuable and to know, they had to know someone who knew the girl.

There were more of those things running around, wreaking havoc on the world.

Apparently Parker Cross had found one.

Elise felt her fists tighten. How did he find one of these _things_ before they did? He was supposed to be a very stupid, very wealthy idiot, not a better monster hunter than them. If there was one thing Elise truly hated it was to loose, especially to someone like him who hadn't done a day of work in his entire life. All he did was secure treasures. he had smooth hands, other people wore the callouses and scars for his work. Apparently he stumbled across someone. Well then, she would get someone to deliver the orb who would find out _exactly_ what was going on. No sense in revealing the Institute's hand in this. She turned smoothly around to face the man.

"Thank you for informing me. Inform our buyer that the transaction is satisfactory and we will arrange delivery of the orb and wire transfer of the money."

"Of course, Dr. Bordello," he said inclining his head before he turned and departed.

Elise locked the door in his wake and walked over to her desk. Reaching into the drawer she pulled out the cellular phone she kept for personal calls. The Institute paid for both, had records of both but one was able to be shown to their benefactors and inspectors, the other was not. In that phone, Elise kept a handful of less than savory people in her contacts, people whose loyalty was for sale. She did not like them any more than they liked her but she could pay them and know the job would get done without word of it leaking out. They dealt with her because she had a fair amount of easily movable money to ensure they got paid. Scrolling through the phone numbers she found the one she needed and dialed the call. After a moment the phone connected.

"Good afternoon Captain Sheppard," she said with a smile, "are you available for a short job? Before you refuse, I should inform you that this job would involve Mr. Cross. I have something he wants and I know there is no-one you would love to see more than him, especially after the regrettable way his relationship with your sister ended."

The response came through the phone. Elise smiled.

"Excellent. I had a feeling you would be up for the job. We'll be in touch."

She ended the call with the first genuine smile she had shown in days. Placing the phone down she picked up another one. Holding the thing between two fingers she wondered if telling the Institute was really the right thing to do. She pursed her lips before she laid down the phone on the desk. No, there was no reason to alert her superiors to this, not yet anyway. it was best for everyone if she found out what Parker knew and then told them. If Parker had leaked something like this already, there was no telling what another information spill could result in. It was best for everyone if she handled this herself.

And if she let Sheppard deal with Parker.

**

* * *

**

"So, why do we want this orb so badly?" Parker questioned looking over at Matsumoto, "not that this is the strangest thing I've ever bought for a beautiful woman."

"I am _not_ sleeping with you," Matsumoto snapped.

"Hey! I've done some crazy things but zombie-sex? Not my styl--" he stopped as his phone buzzed, "alright apparently I am the only one crazy enough to buy this thing."

Isshin looked over at Ichigo. His son was trapped inside some kind of fail safe ability of Aizen's. He should never have let him continue to be a substitute Shinigami, especially not during war. No matter how talented or special he was, Soldiers were soldiers and in the old man's eye, everyone was expendable. It was ironic that Aizen had the sense to think that Ichigo was in need of being kept in check while the people who were supposed to be on his side were fine with throwing him to the wind. Isshin felt his fists clench as he stared at his son's prone form. After all he had done for them they were still content to throw him aside, just like they did with the Vizards and Rukia and even him. His son should never have been a part of the world he left behind. Secrecy be damned, he should have _told_ him and--and--and grounded him. He should have done something, done _anything_ to keep him safe. He was a worse father than Ryuuken.

As they struggled inwardly upstairs, far below them something else was happening.

As she walked into the hospital she did not look questionable, in fact, no-one spared her a glance as she strode through the doors. It was lucky it was so sunny out otherwise they probably would have suspected something. WIde sunglasses hid her eyes as the silk scarf around her head concealed her hair. Her high shoes clicked along the ground as she walked, the sway of her hips mesmerizing though her aloofness kept the men an arms length away. The creme colored trench coat she wore revealed the equally pale pants that clung to her legs. She walked past the nurses before they even asked her what she was doing there.

She stepped into the elevator and pressed the button with a gloved hand. Though people glanced at her they would not remember her. She left nothing in her wake. No fingerprints or foot prints. Nothing except the faint scent of flowers which soon faded with the gentle whirr of the air conditioning. She stood strait in the elevator until it arrived at the floor. Turning she walked down the hallway carefully, her shoes continuing to echo through the hallway until she arrived at the door to his room. She walked into the room, knowing that it would be empty. It wasn't time for the nurse to be there. By her calculation she had ten minuets alone with him, ten minuets to do what needed to be done.

The bandages that encircled his missing eyes made it impossible to tell if he was looking at her but she knew he had sensed her coming in. The slight turn of his face was only the final confirmation of the fact. His body was so _broken_. He looked more like he had been shattered and hastily taped back together, no thought given to matching up the seams--no thought given to making him look whole once more. Well she was going to fix that. From the way his face remained neutral she had a feeling he only knew that someone was there, not _who_ was there. One arm was a mess of pins but his other was a stump. His fingers reached for the controls of the bed but she strode over, laying a gloved hand on his and moving it aside.

"Who are you?" he questioned turning his sightless face to hers.

"Your sensory powers are cut off," she said.

The sharp inhale made her realize she had given away her identity. Well, no matter. If he knew it was not like there was anything he could do about it. She would be gone before he even managed to call for someone. Besides, he would show the same odd respect for their former friendship that had brought her to this place.

"Don't try to move."

"What are you doing here?" he demanded.

"I'm here to heal you."

"Heal Ichigo," he said, "he's the one whose dying."

"What has been done to him is not something I can fix," she said, "I can heal any damage done to him but he's still going to be imprisoned by Aizen's ability. That is not something I can undo."

"Can't or won't?" he asked.

Behind the tinted glasses her eyes narrowed angrily at the suggestion that he would do such a thing. For a moment her old emotions threatened to swell up and overwhelm her again but she shoved them down. There was no _way_ she was going to fall prey to them, not again. Instead she sighed softly, just loud enough so he could hear it, just loud enough so that he was _aware_ of her disappointment at his question. She heard him shift slightly against the sheets, obviously uncomfortable;e with how things had changed. Well she was too but that didn't mean she was going to wallow in it. There was far too much to be done.

"Can't," she said.

"Can't," he repeated, "there's not supposed to be a limit to what you can do."

"Well there are limits," she snapped, "there are _always_ limits and rules. Some can be bent or broken but not all of them. Now I can't break Aizen's curse but I _can_ make sure you have a body to help fight."

"I am healing," he said, "I've dealt with worse than--"

"Shut up. I don't have time for your speeches," she said looking at the clock, "your nurse will be here in a few minuets."

"Are you _monitoring_ me?" she said nothing, "if they come in and find me healed they're going to ask questions."

"Well you're just going to have to lie," she said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world, "I know you can do that with _some_ success," she said, "you lied to me for years about your feelings."

"That's not fair," he said.

"No," she said, "nothing's fair. Now hold still."

He didn't hear her utter the words, maybe she had just grown too powerful for that by now. He felt nothing once she began either. Being numb instead of in contestant pain was in some ways worse. it was like someone had taken a vacuum and sucked out everything he felt. One moment his hand was gone and the next he felt much more of the bed sheet where his hand re grew. The pins in his arm clattered to the floor, pushed out by the healing bone as the other breaks and bruises all healed. He felt his eyes moved behind his eyelids, the pressure of the bandages increasing once his eye sockets bulged and rounded instead of being flat and empty.

He had never been healed so extensively before. His limbs seemed to be numb with the healing. Slowly when they came online it felt as though pins and needles were going through him. His ears were ringing but he heard the dull echo of her shoes moving down the hallway. She was leaving. He forced is tingling fingers to move, to reach up and drag the blinding bandages off her eyes. All he saw was the door swinging closed. It was as if she had never been there. The only reminder was the lingering smell of flowers.

That and the fact his body was reformed.

He ripped the few needles out of his smooth skin, the tubes that snaked into him were gone as well. He jumped to his feet. Unfortunately they were asleep and he slammed into the ground. Not caring he shoved himself up and ripped the sheet of the bed. He had been there enough as a patient that he wore nothing but a hospital gown. He dropped the sheet and raced to the cabinet, ripping a spare gown out and throwing it on to cover his back. Then, he ran from the room into the hallway. He heard the nurse shriek behind him but he paid her no attention. He could barely see thanks to the fact his glasses were gone but he had to find her.

"Mr. Ishida!" the peppy nurse screamed his name, "you can't mo--you can move?! Mr. Ishida you have to stay still!"

He ignored them and kept running. He dove into the elevator, closing the doors before they were able to stop him. He knew she had taken the elevator too, or he hoped that she had. The second the doors opened he raced into the main lobby and kept running towards the exit. He saw the creme trench, her hair hidden by the scarf. He pushed himself harder, harder than he thought was even possible given his body's condition. His fingers almost touched her but they really just brushed the scarf, pulling it down around her neck.

Sunset hair tumbled free, brushing his face in a silken caress before the glass of the door slammed between them. Her feet paused, only for a moment as her eyes turned towards him, his hand unable to open the door. Even with the clear glass of the door and the tinted glass that hid her eyes he could see her hardened violet grey eyes. The world seemed to slow for a moment as they looked at each other. There was no reason for her to be so hard, no reason for him to be so broken, no point in them being on opposite sides--if that was even what they were. But all those things were true. They had done things they had no business in doing, any vestiges of the innocence they once claimed were long since gone.

The world moved again. His hand ripped open the door as she took off down the street. But it was too late. The security arrived. He barely made one foot out the door before they grabbed him. The needle that pierced his arm was far too quick for him to even put up a struggle. He made out the familiar, foggy outline of his father before he looked over just in time t o see the last strands of her sunset hair as she rounded the corner and disappeared. The drugs kicked in fully as the world fogged over and disappeared all together. Ryuuken lowered his wrist, the syringe feeling terribly heavy.

"Call Dr. Bordello," he said, "tell her--" he looked at his son's form, "tell her my son is not be eligible for that trial anymore."

* * *

**THERE IS A REASON ORIHIME IS ACTING LIKE THIS.**

**Please refrain from complaining about it in your reviews. There is an explanation. Once you hear that, you can complain all you want.**

**R&R!**


	8. Chapter 8

"Alright Mr. Ishida, follow my finger."

Uryuu did his best to obey the woman, his eyes struggling to follow the digit presented to him, Unfortunately Inoue had simply restored him to how he had been at the start of the mayhem which meant his eyes were back and were just as terrible as they had always been. The woman lowered her fingers and made a notation in her chart, like every single eye doctor he had ever seen. Uryuu couldn't see her do it past the vague blur of her outline but he knew. It was predictable.

Somehow that seemed _wrong_.

It was wrong that he was getting his eyes examined when a few hours ago, he had no eyes. Wrong that he was sitting there, wrong that he was looking at a finger when it seemed that not too long ago the world had shattered. It had shattered but it had not been repaired. Not in the way that it should have been. There were cracks, cracks that Uryuu Ishida did not need his glasses to see. He felt them, acutely beyond anything he had been aware of before. The world had not simply been broken and hastily fit together.

It had been abandoned.

He had been aware of the Shinigami, of the Hollows, even when both had been little more than a knot in the back of his conscience. But now he could feel neither, nothing past the most infinitesimal blip. He could feel Souls dying, Souls being reaped but none were strong enough to make him even truly aware of their presence. No Captains, no Seated Officers, not even one of the mindless Hollows that did little more than destroy buildings and attempt to eat souls. No, there was nothing there. It was as if a great hand had come down and scooped up anything that had to do with the dead. It was a strange feeling, not unlike someone ripping out every fiber of a being and setting them down as little more than a rag doll without stuffing.

"Alright Mr. Ishida, I'm leaving now," the doctor told him. He nodded, not speaking as she walked over to the door and stepped out, leaving him alone inside the room.

It was not as if when his senses came back online they were heightened. Rather it felt as though nothing had happened to him, as if he did not belong in the hospital at all. The floor was not bitingly cold through his stocks, his skin did not feel unusually sensitive, his healed eyes were not unnaturally responsive to light and his ears did not ache or echo. Everything felt as though it had worked the way it had for as long as he had been alive. There was no reason for him to feel like a doll that had its stuffing removed. There was no need for him to feel so vacant, so empty but that was exactly what he felt. A handful of steps took him over to the window where he looked out at the wonderfully normal world and felt like doing nothing more than breaking down and sobbing.

His fingers pressed to the window sill as he stared down at the streets below him. He looked down at the cars and the buildings and the people, all of whom stood there as if the world had stayed the same. As if lives had not been shattered and souls unmade and a thousand things changed. It was the strangest thing to think that they had been asleep, that they had been protected and sheltered and saved from the agony of choosing. Of choosing between the world and desire. Between choosing the greater good and the very thing your heart screamed out for. There was no choice for them and even if there had been, was there any sort of guarantee they would have made the right choice? That they would have been strong enough, mentally, physically, emotionally--that they would have been able to make the choice to place the lives of many over even the life most precious.

And for what?

"Have you come to gloat?" he questioned, his voice low and shockingly calm to his own ears.

Behind him Ryuuken Ishida looked at his son. Spine erect, fingers digging into the wood hard enough that they would have left bruises had the wood been skin. He looked normal, he looked healed. What he did not look like was the boy who had defied him, who had gone back on their agreement and raced off to save his friends. Now his son looked as though he had skipped being a man and gone strait to being a very old one. One foot in the grave, the other not far behind. His son looked bitter and hurt, something Ryuuken did not need to see his face to read. Uryuu made no move to turn and allow his father to see his face, rather he remained looking a the window.

"Ichigo Kurosaki is downstairs in stable but critical condition," he said, his voice cool and controlled.

Uryuu's eyes widened as he turned around, staring at his father. Cold seeped through him. Ichigo was in critical condition? _Still_? Even in those endless, sightless days he at least was aware that time was passing. It had to have been weeks since he landed in Karakura Town--since _they_ landed in Karakura Town. What Ichigo had done in that war--there was _no_ reason for him to be in anything but perfect health. Orihime had that it was something she couldn't fix. Something that she couldn't fix could only mean--

_I can make sure you have a body to help fight_

"What's his room number?" Uryuu questioned sharply.

"Dress yourself," Ryuuken commanded cooly, "miraculous healing or no, I will not have you running around this hospital in your attire."

Uryuu looked down at the hospital gown and then at his father. Ryuuken motioned to the chair next to him. Uryuu looked over to see a pair of hospital scrubs, a glasses case placed neatly on top of the pristine folds of the garments. Ryuuken turned and walked out of the room as Uryuu walked to the chair and looked at the clothing and the glasses. Reaching out he picked up the case and opened it, his fingers grasping the wire frames inside. He held them in two fingers turning them over in his fingers, looking at them carefully.

_He was flying backwards, flying as far and as fast as he had ever thought possible. For one glorious, endless moment he was flying. He saw the light and for a moment he thought he had died, or he was dying, or some combination of the two. Light and warmth that quickly turned too hot and then the dull wave of power that echoed over him._

_He dared to open his eyes, just slightly, just to see what was wrong. He could live a thousand years and he would always _always_ remember the bright, candy colored glow of the cero, the way the buildings around him seemed to start as solid before dissolving into lace. Lace or perhaps fireworks, bright bursts against a brighter background. _

_It was beautiful. _

_Breathtakingly, heartbreakingly beautiful. He didn't even hear his glasses crack, didn't even see the first splinters that gave overture to what was about to happen. And then the metal of his frames got agonizingly hot. But it was impossible to move, even as he heard the sound of the glass shattering, even as he felt the glass shards slide through his eyes. He remembered closing his eyes, thinking skin would protect him. Glass slid through that as well and locked the shade to the window. _

The glasses dropped from his fingers as he grabbed the chair, trying to stop the world from spinning nauseatingly. His glasses hit the ground but did not break, simply lay there like nothing had happened. Uryuu squeezed his eyes shut, harsh breaths escaping his lips. It was not the worst thing he had seen, not the worst thing he had felt, not that day. But it came close. Apparently no matter how his body was healed, his head was another matter entirely. Funnily enough, he did not remember it being quite so broken before. Shakily he groped for the scrubs on the chair and focused on pulling them on, despite his trembling hands. Depositing his hospital gown on the chair he picked the glasses up and tucked them into their case, placing it in his pocket before walking out of the room.

Unsurprisingly, his father was nowhere to be found.

**

* * *

**

The smooth leather of the handle was already warm against his fingers.

Careful, measured steps took him towards the double doors that led to his ultimate destination. His polished shoes clicked against the marble of the floor, the sound oddly loud to his ears. There was nothing extraordinary about his appearance, nothing to hint at where the man had been, at what he had seen. He was wonderful and inexplicably normal in every way but the way it truly mattered. But perhaps, if one was feeling optimistic, they would not think of such as a negative. But people are not always optimistic creatures by nature and even if they are, there are times when even the most unassuming go against their nature.

The two men at the door did not greet him, it was not in their nature nor their job description to do such a thing. They merely stepped aside with gestures that had become somehow part robot, part ballet, coldly precise and coldly beautiful. He ignored both, continuing through the doorway they guarded, down the short hallway it hid behind its polished surface. Behind him he heard the door close, a sound he would have missed had it not been one of the first times he had heard such a sound in a very long time. For a moment his feet faltered, for a moment his resolve seemed to weaken, but only for a moment. Then, just as he slowed his steps quickened, as if he sought to make up for the lost distance in a handful of steps before his pace resumed its meticulous rhythm.

The final door had no guards. The only feet that made it as far as the door in front of him were feet that knew where to go. Feet like his. His available hand slipped out of the pocket of his pants and grasped the polished door handle. He knew he had to pull to open the door but just for a moment, just for a second his hand tried to move to the side, as if the door would somehow slide to open. That was how he had been opening doors for so long, it seemed strange that he would have to pull the door towards him, that he would have to use any but the barest force to open it. His fingers tightening in a silent show of anger he bent his elbow and pulled the dark wood towards him, forcing the door open before stepping into the bright sunlit room.

In a strange way it was comforting to be there. Not to say that the men sitting in that room were any less ruled by their emotions than the men he had killed but at the very least they were _aware_ of it. Sitting there in their robes, looking like they belongs far in that other world than in the one that existed outside the window, they watched him cooly. His steps were measured as he walked towards the center of the room, towards the narrow table that stood in the center. He stopped there, his hand moving to balance the case as he laid it on the center and reached to the far side, undoing the clasp and pulling it open to reveal the prize to the men seated in the positions of power. They were far too controlled for murmurs or gasps or anything of the sort really. Instead they looked at the prize, their gazes sharp and bright as any predator he had the misfortune of dealing with.

"So small," one spoke finally, "the other pieces have been purchased?"

"Yes," he spoke cooly, "but procuring them should not be an issue."

"And you?" another questioned, "you going out so soon, it seems as though that would be an issue."

"No," he replied, "leaving loose ends in a situation as sensitive as this is unwise," he looked at them before one nodded their heads. Carefully he shut the case and did up the snaps, "if that is all?"

"One more thing," one said, "were there any complications?"

He was silent for a moment, considering their words. It would not do to lie to them, not that it would have worked. Instead he thought back. He thought of tumbling sunset hair, of eyes that showed more emotion than his ever would, he thought of soft hands that slapped much harder than they should and soft sounds that spilled from sleep filled lips.

He thought of all that before opening his mouth.

"No. There were no complications." he said finally.

He was dismissed quickly, efficiently and departed the room, pausing only long enough to transfer the case to the next pair of hands. He turned on his heel and walked down the same corridor, through the same sets of doors and out into the same bright sunlight. It was equally complicated to exit such a place but that was fitting for a hall that held such secrets. Still it was done with brutal efficiency as he was scanned and patted before departing. The black car waited for him outside, its engine already humming in wait for him. Sliding into the black leather interior he glanced outside before looking at the man half hidden by the headrest of the seat in front of him.

"Your papers are in the case, sir," the driver spoke as the car pulled away from the side walk.

He opened the case and glanced through the papers, quickly committing names and information to heart. It seemed foolish for a new identity to come so quickly he could understand the necessity of it. After all, a dead man tying up loose ends would be rather difficult to explain. No, it was best that the dead remained that way, that he moved on. Tucking the necessary documents into the pocket of his blazer and the one at his thigh, he sat back in the car and let it take him to the airport. I

t was the usual annoyance to go through customs, to check baggage and to make sure that everything was in order. The fact his flight was international was somewhat more annoying given the longer time he had to spend in the airport. But soon it was time to board the plane and he was grateful for the waiting to be over. Over the course of the last few months--or had it been years? Time difference was a terribly annoying thing--he had enough waiting to last a lifetime. Lowering himself into his seat he glanced at the man sitting next to him, clearly not having the best of mornings if the dark glasses and half consumed bottle of water were any indication. Slowly the plane taxied and finally took off.

"So why're you going to this shit town?" the man sitting next to him finally asked glancing over.

"Business," he said cooly.

"Yeah, didn't figure this for much of a pleasure place," came the reply, "didn't figure you for much of a pleasure guy."

"Excuse me?" he asked, raising an eyebrow, disliking how the situation was shaping up, "I do not believe we have met."

"Not yet," he said with an easy grin, sticking out his hand, "name's Alexander Sheppard, the Gabriel Institute sent me."

"Dr. Bordello sent you," he said.

"Guess you could say that," he said with a shrug, "so how 'bout we spend the next couple hours with you filling me in on who these other are. I'm 'specially interested in this Ichigo Kurosaki fellow," he outright grinned, "I heard he kicked your ass pretty good."

"Hardly," he replied, "he killed me."

* * *

**Don't forget to R&R!**


	9. Chapter 9

The House of the Kuchiki Clan was silent.

It was as if the world had exhaled. The strain that the staff had been under, the hysteria that had gripped the house. It was all over. The meeting of the Four Noble Houses had occurred. No wars had been started, no insults thrown. Everything had gone perfectly and the other three had departed as quickly and silently as they had come. Lord Kuchiki was the last one to leave, as was custom, despite the meeting taking place in his own home. He had waited until all had departed before he had done the same, walking back into the recesses of his deserted house. Sunset painted the house gold and red, set the pale walls on fire and for a single, irrational moment, Byakuya Kuchiki wished the house would burn down with him still inside.

The robes he wore were long, made entirely of silk. Their weight was the embroidery, bringing the fabric to life. His arms were heavy with lotus blossoms, the faint pink of the thread a homage to the blade that rested silently behind him. Up his arms and down his back were clouds, their black and white thread bringing the image to life. Spanning almost the entirety of his back was the crest of the Kuchiki Clan. The cranes, placed back to back, their wings extended in flight with the flower between them. Their heads rested close to his shoulder blades, their feet somewhere near his knees. Underneath the heavy outer robe, his cloths were of silk, the black and white pattern continuing in a more subtle but no less extravagant form.

His feet were silent on the lacquered floors, his steps smooth and measured. His eyes remained ahead, the indifferent expression on his face a testament to the force of his will. He walked through the house towards a place that overlooked one of the gardens. The other Nobles had left, but not all of them had remained gone. There was unfinished business between the Shihon and Kuchiki Houses, business that needed to be settled. Settled quickly, and above all, settled quietly. He reached the doors and slid them open, stepping onto the floor.

Kneeling silhouetted in the dying sun was Yoruichi Shihon. She wore robes of a similar fashion, though the colors of her own robes were much softer. Violets and greys, they seemed to blend in a misty twilight that pattered the kimono she wore underneath her ceremonial robe. Her hair was twisted and pinned, the only visible ornament the pair of hair sticks that cost as much as the scarf around his throat. Her eyes were not on him, but on the garden. She knelt on the mat, her hands resting on her knees, the picture of a serene noblewoman, though the truth was she was anything but. Her eyes were locked on the dying sun, the bright fire burning them. Yet she did not look away. She forced her gaze to remain there, forced her eyes to stay on what was in front of her, even as she heard Byakuya approach.

Silently Byakuya moved to the low table, seating himself on the other side. Still Yoruichi did not look at him. Byakuya said nothing for a moment, allowing the thick silence to remain. It was not a companionable silence, not that he truly expected it to be. After all, the fact of the matter was that they were not companions. Not in any true way. And given that Yoruichi had reclaimed the nobility she had tried so hard to push aside, it was nothing but ignorance that made Nobles think they could sit in peace. There was always some other motive, something else that would bring two people such as them to such a place. Given what had happened, it was only an outside force that would bring the two of them together in such a way.

"The Elders wish for the arrangements to progress," Byakuya spoke, his voice smooth and melodic.

Yoruichi's fists tightened fractionally before they smoothed out. But it was too late, the armor was cracked. He could see the glossiness to her eyes, the tears that had nothing to do with the sun. He could see the indentation in her lip, from where she had bit it. Her fists as well were a give away. Yoruichi had long ago cast off the bonds of what made her a Noble and though she was trying to reclaim them, perhaps the emotions had simply gotten too strong. She could pretend all she wished but the fact was that he and the other three had never done what she had. They had lost people they cared about, lost people they loved and they had done it without breaking.

Without betraying everything in the name of emotion.

"I will speak to the Shihon Elders," she said, "they will move forward as they see fit."

Byakya inclined his head in acknowledgement of her words.

"Do you think the Commander General truly will change the guards?"

Byakuya gave no reply to her inquiry, but his mind instantly when to the object concealed in the folds of his robes. Travel between the three worlds was so incredibly restricted now that the only way to do it for a Shinigami of any really power was to have the four of them in one place at the same time. There still were multiple Gates, but none of them would work. Yamamoto had fashioned a Zanpakuto to function as a key to the Gate, as the _only_ key to the Gate. He had broken it into four pieces, giving one to each of the members o the Four Nobel Houses to keep safe and, most importantly, to keep separate. Byakuya's own was half the hilt of the tanto, strung on a chain, that hung heavy around his neck. Across from him, Yoruichi wore the other half.

"I do not think that is a possibility," he said, "Lord Sakamoto has always been one for rumors."

Yoruichi gave the barest, bitterest smile Byakuya thought he had ever seen in his life. Deep inside he felt anger stir. It was fine for her to feel however she felt, but it was not the time for her to show it. The people needed to see those in charge as unwavering in their support of Yamamoto's decision. It was the shakiness, the rumors, all of it was the reason Aizen had gotten so far. It would lead to doubt in the people. Doubt would make them question their leaders and if they questioned them enough, then there was a chance they would take it on themselves to rebel. If there was one thing that Soul Society could not stand at the moment, it was another rebellion.

"Your doubt is ill placed," he said instead. Yoruichi's eyes widened, "it is written on your face," he said, his voice edged in steel, "if you do not wish for people to question you, I suggest you do not allow it to show."

"I envy your callousness," Yoruichi told him cooly.

"You envy nothing then," Byakuya said, his features not changing.

Yoruichi made a sound of disbelief as she stood up, too disgusted to remain near him any longer. A thousand words were on her tongue, a thousand ways to tell him off for his behavior and yet her lips remained closed. There was no point in telling him off. None at all. There was no point in anything, not in the emotions she felt, not in letting them remain naked on her face. No point, no reason and even if she could see it, her heart still remained the same. She had always been overly emotional and she had always allowed people to see what she was feeling. She had once taken pride in that, in that she was not thought of as some calloused, unfeeling Noble. Now though, now she wished that she was. Now she wished that not only her emotions would not show but that she would not feel them at all. So instead of speaking she walked over to the doors.

"It was a choice, Yoruichi," Byakuya said, stopping her in her tracks, "whatever the circumstances that led you to that choice, it was made by you. Take comfort in that."

"Take comfort?" she questioned, looking at him with disbelief, "what we have done--we do not deserve comfort."

"No," Byakuya agreed, "we do not. But your desire for it is clear," he turned his head to look at her, "it was your choice. No-one else's."

Yoruichi left, one hand pressed low on her stomach, wishing he was not right.

Wishing she did want comfort.

**

* * *

**

Orihime closed her eyes as she leaned her forehead against the wall of the small apartment she was staying in.

Sneaking in to heal Uryuu had been so adrenaline fueling, now she could feel it leaving and in its wake, all she felt was weak. Endless running, hiding, it was exhausting. But seeing Uryuu, that was the most exhausting thing she had done in the past months. Shakily she raised her hands, running them through her hair as she stepped away from the wall. Slowly her hands found the buttons at the collar of her coat. Undoing them she walked to the center of the room. Slowly she let the coat drop from her as she turned and headed for the bathroom. The scarf, sunglasses and her shoes followed until she stood clad only in pants and a long shirt. Stepping into the bathroom, she flicked on the lights. Reaching for the hem of her shirt, she pulled it over her head.

Clad in her bra and pants, Orihime stopped before she turned on the shower, her eyes moving across her body. It was ironic really, given what she had just done. But it did not change the scars on her body. They stretched, web-like across her torso, down most of her left leg almost to the knee before curling upwards, covering a good portion of her right arm. It was not from a fight, rather it was from when she had fallen to earth. She had fallen, _burning_. In the hospital they had to take off the cloths she had, the white dress that had been her prison uniform had been burnt into her skin. Pulling it off meant they had to pull off her skin as well. Orihime had always thought one day she would be able to take off that white dress. Now she knew she never could.

Reaching out she turned on the hot water for the shower, giving the pipes a few moments to warm up. Brushing a lock of hair behind her ear, she turned and walked back into the main room of the apartment. On the small table lay a mobile phone, its message light blinking rhythmically. Orihime picked the device up, opening it. The screen sparked to life, revealing there was one new message waiting for her. Opening the message, Orihime looked at the numbers written there. She punched them into the phone and hit the call button, waiting for the phone to connect to the other line.

"Hello?" a male voice asked.

"How did you get this number?" Orihime questioned, her voice curt.

"A friend," came the reply, "a friend gave it to me. I heard about what you can do."

Orihime's fingers tightened on the phone. That was why she was running, why she was hiding, why she was so exhausted. She had managed to keep her powers. Soul Society had tried to keep her with them. They had wanted her and her gifts to stay in the land of the dead. But she had refused, choosing instead to fall with the rest of her friends. Unfortunately while Soul Society seemed content to let them die off slowly and painfully, they wanted her back. So she had run. How she had managed to keep ahead of them, she did not know. She had been careful, moved around a lot but she had a feeling that luck had a lot to do with her success. She did not know who this man was or how he knew of her abilities, all she knew was that she needed to hang up and get rid of her phone.

"Please don't hang up," he said abruptly, "I'm sorry to contact you like this, but I need your help."

"Need my help? Do you have a name?" she demanded.

"Yes, ah, my name is Dr. Junichiro Masato."

The moment he told her of his identity, Junichiro regretted it.

But he needed help.

He had gotten his hands on some early data that hadn't made it into Dr. Bordello's clutches quite yet and buried in that data he had found a name. Orihime Inoue. Apparently she had dropped to earth around the same time. Unlike the other two, she had not been injured enough to simply lay there. She had bolted. Somehow even with injuries she had made it to another hospital in another town, one where she wouldn't be associated with the two boys. It was a smart move on her point. She had escaped their notice long enough that the only thing currently known about her was that she had seemingly vanished in the middle of the night from her hospital bed.

Junichiro had a better idea., She had probably just gotten out of the bed and walked away. What he was doing was highly illegal and costly but he had done it anyway. The image of that girl, laying on the bed, it had been all the incentive he needed. A few well placed phone calls, exchanges of bills in briefcases, and at the end of the day all he had been given was a telephone number. It did not matter, now that he had her on the phone he knew it had been worth every penny he had spent. This girl could give him answers, answers that were not just passed down from the upper echelons of the Gabriel Institute. He needed a stream of information that was not tainted, one where he heard the truth. Where he could figure out what the hell he was going to do.

"Alright Dr. Masato, what is this about?"

"This is about a girl," he said, trying to keep the information _he_ gave out as minimalistic as could. Not a difficult task considering how little he knew, "a girl who seems to go in and out of her body at will."

Orihime tightened her fingers on the phone she held to her ear. Going in and out of a body? That sounded like a Shinigami. A girl? There were only a handful of Shinigami she thought could be described as such. The one her mind immediately went to was Rukia.

"What does she look like?" she asked.

"She looks like a kid," he said

"I meant her hair, her eyes?"

"Black hair, purple eyes," he said.

Orihime gasped aloud.

It was Rukia.

It _had_ to be Rukia. She had found it incredibly strange when Ichigo had fallen as he had that Rukia had just vanished. Rukia wasn't the type to run from a fight, certainly not when it came to her friends and absolutely never when it came to Ichigo. For the longest time, Orihime had assumed that Rukia was still recovering from her injuries but the moment she was able she would find a way to come back and help them. But that hope had fated and Orihime decided that, like the rest of Soul Society, Rukia Kuchiki had abandoned them. But now it seemed like that wasn't the case. Something had happened to Rukia, something bad. And this man seemed to have gone through a lot of trouble to tell her about it. Either that or she was being lured into a trap. Whichever the case, Orihime knew she had to be careful. She had to be very _very_ careful.

"Where are you?" she asked.

"That's not important," he said, "I need to know what happened to you, you and the others."

"Others? I don't know what you're talking about," Orihime said.

"Please," Junichiro said, "I know your friends are in trouble. I know you ran away. But its only a matter of time before my employers find you."

"Is that a threat?" Orihime demanded.

"No, no," Junichiro said quickly, pressing his hand to his head, "I apologize if it sounded like that. I don't really understand what's going on. For that I need your help. Information is what I ask."

"And why should I give it to you?" she asked.

"Because right now, in my employer possession, is your friend. And we have two more in route," he stopped, "and we know."

"Know what?" she asked.

"We know all three of them are dead."

Orihime stared at the wall. He knew. He knew that Rukia was dead and he had two other Shinigami on their way to wherever he was. For a desperate moment, she wanted Ichigo to be there. She wanted him to tell her what she was going to do, what she should do. But then she remembered that it was that sort of blind devotion that had landed them in this mess. Ichgio was laying in a bed in Karakura Hospital, fighting for his life. No, she had to decide what she was going to do and she had to make her decision quickly.

"Her name is Rukia Kuchiki," she said.

"I thought so," he said. When she was quiet he elaborated, "I'm her great-something Nephew," he said, "she's my maternal great-something aunt," he paused for a moment, "I want to help you. I want to help her."

"I hope so," Orihime said, "what do you need from me?"

"Most importantly?" he said, "I need you tell me about a glass orb. Something that was shattered."

"I can do that," Orihime said, "Its called the Hogyoku and it was shattered by myself with the help of someone named Ulquiorra Cipher."

* * *

**Okay so next time we're gonna check up on the people on the boats and the identity of our two mystery men MIGHT be revealed.**

**Please review! Makes me wanna write faster. **


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